The Fundamental Realization of Emotional Predilection
by PleaseDon'tGetMeRescued
Summary: Or how Éponine comes to survive the revolution, Marius and Cosette come to see their relationship for what it truly is, and the discovery of emotional attachments between friends. This is my first Les Mis story. It has aspects of the novel, the operetta, and the movie incorporated into it. Please review and enjoy.
1. Prologue

-Prologue-

"_There is a castle on a cloud. I like to go there in my sleep; aren't any floors for me to sweep, not in my castle on a cloud. There is a lady all in white, holds me and sings a lullaby. She's nice to see and she's soft to touch. She says, 'Cosette, I love you very much.' I know a place where no one's lost. I know a place where no one cries. Crying at all is not allowed, not in my castle on a cloud."_

Éponine can hear the singing from behind her bedroom door as she plays with her dolls. The little servant girl, Cosette, has a lovely voice, she thinks. It is high and light and pretty and echoes through Éponine's head when she tries to find sleep. The words that she's heard sung so many times over the years Cosette has lived with them constantly dance around in her thoughts as she plays.

"_There is a castle on a cloud…" _From the hallway where she is sweeping, Cosette begins again and Éponine hums along in her head. _"I like to go there in my sleep…"_

The eldest Thénardier child is not a peculiar one at all. At the age of eight, Éponine is a simple girl that only wants simple things: a lovely doll to keep her company and the affection of her parents. With things running well in the inn as of late, she has both of those things. The doll she currently possesses looked quite a bit like Éponine herself: long, curling, pretty black hair, shining brown eyes with sweeping eyelashes, and a pretty gown with a satin bow and hat to match. Éponine is quite fond of her pretty doll and her pretty life.

She is not an unkind child. Most days she keeps to herself, playing with her dolls and quietly playing with Azelma and Gavroche while her parents work. Azelma, lately though, had become too ill to keep up with Éponine's fast-paced games and Gavroche is simply too young, only a few months old. Occasionally she will help her parents swipe a pair of eyeglasses from a customer or perhaps a few coins here and there but mostly she is simply lonesome.

"_I know a place where no one's lost…" _Éponine listens as Cosette makes her way down to the far end of the hall, the broom's bristles scraping along the floor as she goes. Setting her doll aside, the girl stands from her place on the rug by her bed. As silently as the old, squeaky wood will allow, Éponine opens the door and poked her head out to see the other girl at work. Her lips twist as she sighs in defeat. Often Éponine think of the other girl and what it would be like to have only even a few hours to play with her. But, her parents keep Cosette so busy. Éponine does not know why Cosette stays with them, only that distracting the other girl from her chores will surely mean herself getting punished. But she is lonely.

_I wonder if Cosette ever gets lonely too_, she ponders.

From down the hall Éponine hears a quiet sniffing. Although the young blond girl's back is too her, she can tell from the shaking of her shoulders that the child her parents treats as a servant is crying. And Éponine knows then, she is not the only child suffering from loneliness at the inn.

"Ay! What's all this?" Éponine hears her father's vicious snarl from around the corner; he is clearly more intoxicated than most nights. Although Monsieur Thénardier treats his own children like angels, Éponine is not unaware of the frequent sharp words Cosette receives from both of her caretakers. As silently as she can manage, Éponine ducks her head back into her room and shuts the door. "What did I say about the crying? And the singing too, ay!" Éponine can hear the resounding slap of her father's hand against Cosette's cheek from down the hall and stifles a gasps. In all of the years Cosette has been around she has never once been struck. Guilt floods through Éponine as she imagines a world if her father were ever to hit her. A shudder runs through her. "Don't. Disturb. The customers."

When she's sure her father' heavy footfalls are well enough away Éponine once again pokes her head out of her bedroom door. There lie Cosette on the floor with a hand to her pinking cheek. Éponine looks at her in pity; the poor girl has nothing. Looking over her shoulder and back into her room Éponine eyes the line of fine dolls her parents have gifted her with over the years. She plays with all of them save one: a ratted white doll made of simple cloth and string. It is torn in places and dirty in the rest, left from when the inn was suffering a few years back and Monsieur and Madam Thénardier couldn't afford such nice dolls as Éponine has now.

Éponine picks up the oldest doll and pets it affectionately; she can afford to give up just one. She silently pads down the hall to where Cosette still lies in pain. Without a word she places the doll on the floor beside the other girl, catching a glimpse of her swelling skin as she bends. Cosette's cheek is swelling, five fingers clearly indented in pink on the girl's skin. She doesn't look up when Éponine places the doll beside her, only buries her face further into her arms and attempts to sniffle away some of her tears. "I hope you rather enjoy her," Éponine whispers as she rushes away. Although she often dreams of a friend to play with, she will not risk her parents becoming angry with her for mingling with the help. And so, with that, she moves to once again close her bedroom door, only to finally catch Cosette's eye. Neither girl says anything but, the minute upward quirk of the blond girl's lips is enough of a message for Éponine: _Merci._

-Four Months Later-

A few months have passed and winter has set in. It is now mid-December, cold and snowy. Éponine contentedly skips around the corner into the inn, pulling her new hat down further over her curls. She is pleased; yesterday her father had gifted her with the pretty blue hat for no apparent reason at all, simply kissing her cheek and tying the ribbon under her chin.

"Mama!" she calls as she comes through the door. She stops fast as she hears her mother's curt words to Cosette, telling her to fetch water from the well in the wood. Éponine shudders at the thought of trekking all the way out to the well in the cold snow at night. Madame Thénardier stops her scolding of the servant girl long enough to embrace her child and admire her new hat. "Still there Cosette!" she snarls.

Éponine catches Cosette's eye for a brief moment, silently pitying the poor girl. In the past months the Thénardiers had become increasingly cruel to the young girl, adding to her work load, insulting both Cosette and her ill-fated mother, and even striking her. Éponine suspects that her parents are stressed. There had been fewer and fewer customers at the inn recently; Monsieur Thénardier had even asked his eldest to help out more often, picking pockets and swiping coins from the unsuspecting every night. Her heart clenches whenever she catches a glimpse of the red finger marks on Cosette's cheek but, she always keeps her head down, too afraid to anger her parents. All she desires is their love and affection. She twirls the ribbon of her new hat around her fingers adoringly. _Perhaps things are looking up_, she prays.

Cosette eventually leaves for the well in the wood, shivering and struggling to manage the weight of the bucket. Éponine spots the doll she had given the other girl hidden by the wall; she knows that Cosette fears her most beloved possession being taken away. Madame Thénardier wakes her husband gruffly as she opens the inn and Éponine smiles as her father gives her a kiss.

The young girl loves the inn. Despite the brief guilt she feels when she swipes coins and glasses and whatever else she can find, Éponine enjoys the high energy from the adults around her. Her parents pay her plenty of mind as they work, letting her help. The inn is always filled with song and laughter from the customers and residents and the smile that graces Éponine's pretty face only grows as she mingles with them. They are never shy on complimenting the pretty Thénardier girl who sends them bright smiles and flashes of deep cheek dimples. As she wades through the drunken crowds, the passing customers pat her head, stroke her hair, and touch her cheek. Madame Thénardier frequently and proudly displays her daughter, bragging about her beauty and kindheartedness.

A while later the inn starts to clear out as customers scamper off to their rooms for the night. Éponine sits at one of the tables, swinging her legs back and forth, as they are too short to reach the ground still. She is counting the coins she was able to swipe amongst the loud, drunken crowds, _12..13…14_, when she hears quiet giggles coming from outside. It's Cosette. She's walking alongside an older man, perhaps Éponine's father's age or a bit older. They hold hands and the man swings Cosette from his arms, smiling down at her affectionately.

Upon hearing the laughter from the door, the Madame and Monsieur rush out to meet the pair. They exchange curt words before Éponine hears her mother's gasp. Someone has died. _Cosette's mother?_ Éponine feels a rush of sorrow run through her at the thought. Now Cosette is truly alone.

The small group moves to come back into the inn and Éponine rushes to hide behind a pillar, not wishing to be seen. She sees her parents attempt their usual tricks, trying to take whatever off the man they can get. She scowls in distaste; _this man is here to deliver grave news. _However, the man isn't falling for any of the tricks, simply keeping to himself. That is, until he utters words Éponine is almost sure she must have imagined: "I will pay what I must to pay to take Cosette away."

Éponine gasps, quickly covering her mouth to muffle the sound. _Who is this man trying to take Cosette away? What will happen once she's gone? _Her parents bargain for a proper price for the girl for minutes but Éponine has stopped listening. _What will become of us?_ She can't help but fear her father's wrath that is surely to come. "Come Cosette, say goodbye. Let us seek out some friendlier skies." Éponine is snapped from her thoughts as she hears the man's words. Cosette quickly runs to where Éponine is hidden and stop short upon seeing the other girl in her hiding place. They share a long look before Cosette picks the little rope doll up from the floor, offers the briefest of waves, and scampers off again.

The man and Cosette leave with the barest of goodbyes and the Madame and Monsieur argue over the price they received for the girl. Mama is angry, Éponine can tell. Soon her father is as well; they didn't receive nearly enough. "Papa?" she calls, coming out from her hiding spot. She is not sure what she's expecting but the harsh, slurred words of her clearly intoxicated father are definitely not it.

"Éponine what do you want?" he snarls, not even waiting for an answer. "How much money did you make, you brat?" Éponine shrinks back as he gets rather close to her face; she can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Fifteen sous, papa." She mutters it, suddenly afraid of her father all the more. The monsieur complains about her mumbling and so she repeats it again, louder.

"Fifteen sous!" He yells it furiously. The thought of her father growling the words, _"Don't. Disturb. The customers,"_ at Cosette months ago distinctly rings through her head. She says nothing though. "Only fifteen bloody sous!" most nights he praises her for that much; tonight though is different. The blow lands so fast she isn't even aware it came until she's on the floor grasping her violently stinging cheek, listening to her mother's gasp from across the room. The tears run down Éponine's burning face. She is furious and heartbroken and terrified. Never has her father laid a hand on her or either of her siblings. If it wasn't for the throbbing pain in her jaw, she might not even believe that it actually happened. "You'll just have to do better tomorrow," papa mutters as he picks up another bottle of alcohol and stomps his way up the wooden staircase. Her mother gives her a pitying look before following him.

Horrendous sobs wrack though the girl's body as she lies there on the floor, completely unbelieving of what just occurred. She lies there a few minutes more before hearing Cosette's quiet giggling coming from outside again. Trying to ignore the pain she feels, Éponine drags herself up onto her hands and knees and crawls to look out the door. Sure enough Cosette is there with the man. He is handing her a beautiful new doll with a blue hat much like the one Éponine was wearing until it fell to the dirty floor when she did. Cosette gasps in delight and drops the raggedy old rope doll Éponine had given her in the snow, hugging the new one to her chest. As the pair climb into an awaiting carriage more tears flood Éponine's eyes, seeing her little rope doll lying there in the snow.

The same thought from earlier runs through the young girl's head: _What will become of us?_

She is uncertain.

-Five Years Later-

Éponine places a single wildflower she had picked on her sister's grave. She wipes a few tears from her eyes, takes little Gavroche's hand, and walks away, not once looking back. The youngest Thénardier daughter had passed two years prior, the illness that had been plaguing her for three years finally taking her.

At thirteen years old, Éponine knows not to dwell on the thought of her sister ill. She pushes the memories of Azelma vomiting, feverish, shaking, and dying out of her mind. Instead she recalls happier times: She and 'Zelma playing with dolls, chasing each other through the wood, helping mother cook in the kitchen. After all, Éponine knows that her sister is in a better place now. Gavroche though, is too young to understand. All he remembers of their sister is her illness and her death.

As the pair walk away from the tiny grave, the smallest one available and the only one the Thénardiers could afford, the tiny boy sniffles. Éponine looks down to see her brother rubbing his tears away. She picks him up and carries him as she walks in the hopes of comforting the boy. It should be a struggle, carrying him. Éponine is not particularly strong, her arms thin and weak from hunger and exhaustion. This is what worries her, not her own starvation, but Gavroche's. At the age of five, he's a growing boy. She should be getting all the nutrition he can but, Lord knows that they can't afford that anymore. And, stealing food from vendors is becoming increasingly difficult what with everybody being so cautious of what few possessions they have.

Gavroche buries his head into his sister's neck and his tears mix with the warm rain that is dripping down her exposed skin. It beads in the hollows of her gaunt collarbone and drips off the ends of her hair. The sky is grey overhead, fitting the mood surrounding the two remaining Thénardier children. In the trees birds have taken shelter in their nests and the only people on the streets of Paris are the homeless, attempting to hide from the rain underneath doorposts and overhangs and bridges.

Éponine loses her footing when she encounters a slippery patch of stone. She and Gavroche go tumbling down, landing in the muddy water that has collected in the random divots and potholes of the streets. She takes the brunt of the fall, with one hand supporting Gavroche's neck so he doesn't hit his head, and the other slamming down on the hard road, scraping off some skin on the stone. She falls on her hip when her legs slip out from underneath her and she groans in pain. Without a word, little Gavroche stands and holds his hands out to assist his sister up off the ground. She links her hands with his, noticing the dirt that is caked under the both of theirs nails. There is mud clumping in their hair and streaking their clothes. Éponine scowls as her brother helps her up and they proceed down the street towards their family's tiny flat.

They are dirty: covered in mud and sweat, dripping cold in the rain water, wearing the same clothes they've been for two years. Neither wears shoes, both having grown out of their respective pairs when papa insisted that it was unnecessary to buy new ones. The skin on their feet is cracked and rough, dirt under their nails and between their toes. Both have greasy, unwashed hair, not having the means to bathe very often, and dirt constantly smudges their skin.

But they aren't just physically dirty: they are corrupt, their whole family. Yes, they have always been of the thieving variety. Éponine remembers as clear as day swiping treasures from unsuspecting customers alongside her parents when they still owned the inn. When the family first sold the inn and moved to the city, papa had been mad with desperation. They used what little money they made from the inn to rent the tiny flat they inhabited now. They had come to Paris with nothing and Papa had forced all three of his children out into the streets to beg and steal. Gavroche at the time was only three, using his gaunt, innocent face to guilt some of the bourgeoisie into sparing a few sous here and there. Éponine had resorted to stealing, scheming alongside her father and his goons. Azelma did a good share of both. She was forced out into the cold in minimal clothing like the rest of them, and her sickly face and skeletal figure earned her enough pity to make a few coins. The harsh conditions and even harsher words from her father had eventually exasperated her illness and lead to her death.

Éponine shudders at the memory.

When the pair finally makes it back to the flat Gavroche can barely pick up his feet, too exhausted from the long trek and emotional ups and downs of the day. The flat is empty when they arrive, mama and papa probably out running a con. Éponine gives her brother a small portion of stale bread from its hiding place, wrapping up the rest and returning it, hoping her parents won't notice any of it missing. When the boy finishes his meal, Éponine wipes some of the mud from his feet with the torn hem of her dress and tucks him into the cot below the window. She kisses his brow and tells him to sleep lightly, keeping an ear out for mama and papa's return. They would not be pleased to find Gavroche asleep instead of out working.

When the boy is resting peacefully, Éponine grabs her old fraying, threadbare scarf from her cot and hurries out the door.

She wraps the scarf around her neck and mouth, attempting to hide her face. The pickings are slim; hardly anybody is on the streets what with the rain. The only others around are the poor, with nothing worth stealing. But Éponine is desperate. In the past five years her father had become more and more ruthless. It was not uncommon that he would strike her if she didn't bring home enough money or treasures to meet his standards. At first she'd attempted to hide the bruises but soon, she learned, it was pointless. No one cared if a poor ex-innkeeper was striking his daughter. She was of no value.

Éponine wanders the streets for a few hours, managing to swipe some two francs and a couple of sous, a broken but jeweled brooch, and a few apples from a vendor. It's not enough. The sky starts to darken and panic sets in. Although she is used to the beatings by now, the thought of the pain in her very near future always makes her heart beat just a bit faster.

Just when she is about to give up and return home, a boy walks around the corner, crosses the street to her side, and continues on in front of her without a backward glance. He is bourgeoisie, she can tell. He is wearing nice clothing, a fine scarf, and the shine of the golden ring on his finger catches her eye as it shines in the fading sunlight. Her eyes brighten at the thought of bringing that ring home to her father; perhaps he would be proud of her, show her the fatherly affection she hasn't known in years. But, her mood darkens slightly as she realizes stealing the ring will be tricky, if possible at all, without getting caught. The scarf though, is a possibility. It is wrapped loosely around the boy's neck, not tied. Even from her spot about ten paces behind she can see that it is a fine scarf, thick and warm, red with beautiful embroidery. Yes, she could make a decent amount selling that.

She picks up her speed just barely, her bare feet making sound only when she comes in contact with a puddle. But the noise mixes with the gentleman's own steps and he doesn't seem to notice her fast approaching behind him. Her plan is simply to rip the scarf from his neck and run. By the time he turns around she will be halfway down the street and he'll have no chance at seeing her face and turning her over to Inspector Javert. But, just as her fingers close around the neck of the scarf the boy turns around, grasping her wrists in his strong hands. Her eyes widen at getting caught, she has never truly gotten caught before. His grip on her wrists is firm and warm, his hands smooth and unblemished from lack of manual work. He uses his weight to push her against the side of the building and pull her own soggy scarf away from her mouth. His face is much too close and Éponine is finding it hard to breathe. She shrinks back further into the wall, afraid of what this strange bourgeoisie boy with the bright green eyes might do to a thief like her. "What do you think you're doing?" His voice is deep and husky and Éponine suddenly has a strong urge to count every one of the many freckles on his face.

"Please, monsieur," she mumbles it, all too aware of the dirt streaking her face and the rain dripping from her hair. "I didn't mean-"

"To what?" he interrupts, his face not cruel, but firm. "Steal my scarf? Because I believe you _did_ mean to do just that." He doesn't seem angry, this boy who couldn't be much older than her, a few years perhaps. Instead he just seems confused, wary.

"Please sir, my brother is ill." It is an old line she used to use when begging back Azelma was alive. _Please, monsieur. My sister is gravely ill._ She would squeeze out some tears and walk away with a few sous. Now though, it was just a lie. It felt wrong on her tongue; there was no truth to it at all. "I have no money for medication." This however, is not a lie, even if it is not medication she needs the money for.

The boy's face softens and his eyes fill with pity. He takes a step back and Éponine starts to run. "Hey!" he calls after her and she finds herself stopping short for reasons she can't seem to fathom. She turns and looks back at him, catching his eye. "What's your name?" he asks, coming back towards her.

She considers lying, knowing that he will only use her name to turn her into the inspector for stealing. But, there is something in his expression that makes her stop. "Éponine," she whispers.

"Well Éponine," he takes a few more steps towards her and removes the scarf from around his neck. She starts to back up again, unsure of his intentions, when he grabs her wrist again and pulls her closer. "Tell your brother to get well." He lays the thick scarf in her hands and gently closes her fingers around it.

Éponine's eyes widen in shock at his act of kindness. She is stunned for a moment and cannot say a word. Before she can recover the boy has let go of her wrist and started on his way again. "By the way," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm Marius." He gives her a long look and smiles before entering the Café Musain just down the road.

Éponine tells herself that the stuttering of her heart is from his act of kindness.


	2. Part One

-Part One-

-Two Years Later-

She is fifteen now. The warm afternoon sunlight filters in through the small, open window of her family's flat as Éponine dips her hands in the cool water pooling in the bucket she's collected. She scrubs at the dirt under her fingernails and in the cracks of her hands as Gavroche naps in the corner cot. Their parents are out doing who knows what, having been gone when Éponine and Gavroche returned from their daily walk in the streets of Paris.

The girl wipes her dripping hands on the rough cloth of her skirt and pours the now dirty water out the window. Her stomach grumbles loudly; it has been a few days since she has had any real food, having given most of what she could to her brother. She is concerned for him. Living with their father is never easy but the monsieur is greedy, taking the majority of the food and leaving little to none for his children. At the age of seven Gavroche is dangerously underweight. His ribs protrude grotesquely and his skin is lackluster. And, while Éponine suffers in much the same condition, she is much too troubled for her brother to worry about herself.

Her stomach grumbles again and Éponine glances at the door, listening intently for either of her parents' footsteps. Hearing nothing, she pads over to where her mother keeps the bread. She rips off a good potion and sticks it in her pocket to save for Gavroche once he wakes. She then tears a much smaller amount off for herself and wraps the rest back up, replacing it in its hiding place. She has just taken a bite of the stale bread, relishing in the heavy taste, when the door bursts open and her father stomps in.

"Ay! What do you think you're doing!" he yells, waking Gavroche. The little boy buries himself under the threadbare blanket to cover his eyes; he knows what is coming. Monsieur Thénardier lividly stomps over to his daughter and smacks the bread from her hands. "Think you can steal from me, you brat!" Éponine is smart enough to know not to say anything. She is also smart enough to know to be scared. Papa takes her by the hair and cranes her head back; Éponine feels an uncomfortable pop. Tears spring to her eyes at the pain but she remains silent, refusing to let her father hear her cry out. "Think you can take more than your share and get away from it?" Éponine refrains from mentioning the hypocrisy in this statement. "Selfish hussy!" He uses his impressive strength to throw her to the ground. Her cheek scrapes against the rough stone of the fireplace and she can't manage to keep her cry at bay as she feels blood spring forward. From his cot, Éponine can hear Gavroche whimpering in fear.

Éponine pushes herself up from the ground and stands, seeing her father bend to pick up the bread from where it fell and shove it in his own mouth. She sneers in disgust. She has long since stopped craving the parental affections of her father that she used to long for as a child. She knows they will not come. Too much has changed and her father is a despicable man. "Get out of my house," the monsieur snarls, catching her eye. "And don't come back until I call for you."

The girl glares at her father before turning on her heel and approaching the corner cot. She pulls the blankets back and takes her brothers hand. There are tears on his cheeks and Éponine's anger dulls long enough for her to whisper a hopefully comforting "Come along, 'Vroche" and lead him out the door without a single glance back at their father.

Once they are on the street Éponine pauses to wipe some of the blood off of her cheek. It is not too bad, a very sallow scrape to which the blood is already beginning to clot, but Gavroche looks at her in concern and she is willing to do just about anything to put his young mind at ease. She crouches down to his level and takes the hunk of bread from her pocket, fortunately it didn't fall out when her father shoved her to the ground. The boy's eyes light up. He takes the bread in one hand and Éponine's hand in the other and they begin again down the rue. They are almost to the park when Gavroche rips the bread in half and offers it up to his sister. Éponine smiles, ruffles the boy's hair affectionately, and takes the bread. She hums as she chews, the stale bread filling her stomach nicely.

It is times like these that she thinks just how fortunate she is to have 'Vroche. But, she scowls to think of him growing older. With his eighth birthday coming up, father will force Gavroche to work harder and steal more. Éponine also knows that her father will start to be more ruthless with the boy. As of now Gavroche has never been struck by their father, Éponine plans on keeping it that way. He is a sweet boy and does not need to be corrupted by her father, not like she was. Her heart clenches as images of bruises and bright red finger marks marring her baby brother's skin the way they mar hers. She told Gavroche months ago that if father were to ever hit him, to run. Get out of the house and not return; he deserves better that the abuse he is sure to suffer. Although young, 'Vroche has both street smarts and spunk. Éponine has no doubts that he will be just fine on his own but, as of now, she'd rather keep him close and safe as she's able.

"Hey Éponine!" She hears the familiar voice from across the street and her eyes light up. Marius crosses the street with his usual nice schoolboy attire and clean skin. Éponine can't help but feel dirty by comparison.

"Bonjour monsieur!" She feels herself blush a bit; she always feels embarrassed in his presence. "Gavroche," she says, putting a hand on her brother's shoulder. "You remember Monsieur Marius?"

"Of course," mumbles Gavroche, wiping some breadcrumbs from his mouth with the sleeve of his too-small jackets. "How could I forget with you constantly blabbering on about him?" Éponine blushes again. Marius laughs but stops short when he sees the drying blood on her cheek.

"What happened to your face?" He looks concerned with his brows scrunched together, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping a few drops of blood away. Éponine blushes at the contact. Gavroche starts to answer for her but she is quick to cover his mouth, cutting him off. After two years of comfortable companionship, she isn't ready for Monsieur Marius to know the fine details of her family situation just yet.

"I simply tripped in the alley a few moments ago and scraped it. It's nothing, really." Gavroche pulls her hand away from his mouth and looks up at her, confused by her lie.

Marius gives her an exasperated before smirking and pulling on the end of her hair playfully. "You, mademoiselle, must learn to be more careful."

"Well we can't all have the grace of the exquisite Monsieur Marius Pontmercy, now can we?" she teases. Marius laughs at this and leads her and Gavroche across the street. "And don't call me mademoiselle," she grumbles.

"Then don't call me Monsieur." He smirks down at her and Éponine grins. It is a familiar conversation they're been having for two years, both too stubborn to let up. The pair laughs and Gavroche rolls his eyes at their teasing.

"Where are we going?" the boy asks, tired of being forgotten for a moment.

"To the Café Musain. I promised your sister that I would let her sit in on one of our discussions. What do you say, Éponine?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, Monsieur. Not today." She looks down at her tangled hair, dirt-smudged skin, and ragged clothing self-consciously. The Café Musain and crowd that Marius hangs around are full of bourgeoisie students. They dress, act, and talk much like him: fancy. Although she knows Monsieur Marius is not ashamed of their friendship, she is not so sure she is comfortable hanging around his higher up, scholarly friends.

"What? Come on, Éponine! It sounds like fun; I want to go!" cries Gavroche, pulling on the skirt of her dress.

"Yeah, come on, Éponine!" Marius mimics, grinning at her. She catches his gaze and is momentarily captivated by their utter brilliance, lost in the maze of liquid green. Snapping out of it quickly, Éponine groans internally before agreeing. Marius and Gavroche cheer, giving each other a playful handshake at their successful tag-teaming of the young girl, and lead her to the Café Musain.

Éponine is not sure what she expects to find when she enters the world of middle-class scholars and learning, but this is not it. Young men are seated at tables, drinking beer and laughing. There seems to be no learning or discussing of scholarly topic at all, which surprises her. The boys all cheer when Marius enters, teasing him for being late. They fall silent though, when they spot the pair behind him. "Mates, this is my friend Éponine," he begins, pointing to her. "And this is her brother Gavroche. They've come to sit in on the discussion."

Éponine begins to feel quite awkward as the silence continues for a moment. But soon the room erupts in noise again as the students greet her. Monsieur Marius shows her around the crowded café, introducing her to the boys. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Grantaire are a few of the names she remembers from Marius' past mentioning. They men all greet her politely, kissing her hand and making her blush. Thankfully, none of them comment on the scrape on her cheek or the tears in her clothes.

"And this is Enjolras," Marius finally introduces her to the last boy. Gavroche has gone off talking with the older boys. Éponine can hear their laughter as her brother undoubtedly says something ridiculously too smart for his age. Enjolras gives her a curt nod before addressing Monsieur Marius. It is clear from his tone that he is in some sort of position of power here, and that he is not pleased.

"You're late," he states firmly. "Again."

"Yeah well," Marius replies with a grin. "When grandfather stops being so hard to sneak away from and this one," he pokes Éponine in the side, causing her to smile. "Stops being so hard to find, then I'll start being on time."

Enjolras doesn't look pleased by Marius' answer but simply nods. "Sit down, we're beginning." He turns on his heel abruptly and takes his place at the head of the café.

Marius grins down at Éponine and rolls his eyes. "He likes to be overly dramatic about everything." She laughs a bit as they sit at a table with Feuilly and a clearly intoxicated Grantaire. She pulls Gavroche over to sit on her lap and turns her attention to Enjolras at the front of the room.

For the next two hours she is completely incased in the discussion. Her aching hunger, her father's wrath, and even the thought of Marius sitting so close beside her, pale in comparison to her interest in the words coming from Enjolras' mouth. She is entranced by the topics and can't seem to pull herself away.

These meetings, she thinks, just might change her life.

-One Year Later-

_She's dreaming. She knows she is because the familiar constant ache in her body is absent. She looks down at her arms, her bruises are gone. She lifts her skirt to look at her legs, then her shirt to view her ribs. The bruises there are absent as well. She smiles, if not only momentarily. For now she is safe, from her father, from her hunger, from her longing and heartbreak. Nothing can hurt her here._

_A voice echoes through her head, a familiar song she hasn't heard in years. It pulls at her heartstrings and every last one of her happy memories. Or, as happy as her childhood could be considered, really. _

There is a castle on a cloud. I like to go there when I sleep. _She smiles again at the memory. This isn't a castle on a cloud, she muses. But the scenery is altogether beautiful. She's in the meadow where she spent her childhood. She recalls taking the path behind the inn, through the wood and past the well where Cosette used to gather water. She and Azelma used to travel the path until it led them to this meadow. In the spring it would blossom with life, wildflowers everywhere, and birds singing in the surrounding trees. Her happiest memories were in this very meadow. _

_She hums along to the song she knows so very well. She is lost in thought as she trails her for-once clean fingers delicately over the petals of the flowers, the fragile voice reverberating through the meadow. Her brow furrows though when the words change._

Aren't any men for me to thieve, not in my castle on a cloud. _She laughs at this._ _World where she doesn't have to steal to make a living? Could it be possible? She chuckles again. The thought of a world where she could simply be, one where she did not have to worry about her father's angry fists or Inspector Javert's wary eyes, that would surely be a joyous one._

Marius is there all in white; he holds me and sings a lullaby. _He _is_ there. His face is kind and his eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles brightly at her. Éponine's returning smile is just as radiant. He holds his arms out searching for her embrace, and Éponine can't help but run to him. _

He's nice to see and he's soft to touch. _Éponine leans away from the embrace and catches his eye. They're bright green and shining, just like when she's awake, away from this dreamland. Her stomach flutters in something akin to nervousness or excitement or both. He is very beautiful. _

He says, "Ponine, I love you very much." _Her heart stutters. She blinks and then he's gone. Éponine sighs in defeat. Even in this wonderful dreamland, Monsieur Marius is not hers to keep. She smiles a solemn smile and chuckles once more. Why regret what cannot be?_

I know a place where no one's lost. I know a place where no one cries. _She thinks of the tears she often lets slip when she's alone, the tears that little Gavroche often cries; tears of hunger, tears of shame. She wishes she could bring Gavroche here to her pretty dreamland. She wishes she could gather up all of the people she loves and bring them here, so that there would be no more crying, no more tears. _

Crying at all is not allowed, not in my castle on a cloud.

She blinks awake slowly and finds herself alone. It is the early morning but her parents are not anywhere to be seen. She glances over at the empty cot that was once Gavroche's. The boy did as she said; the minute Thénardier laid a hand on him, he ran. Most days now he lives on the streets, and during the nights he stays with one of the boys Marius is friends with, Courfeyrac. The schoolboys all love him and, Éponine was right: Gavroche not only survives on the streets but thrives. There is a patch of other children that follow him around like puppies. He attends every discussion at the Café Musain and makes fast friends with every student there. Yes, Gavroche is doing just fine.

Better than her, at least.

Now that she is awake once more she can feel everything: the throbbing bruises that litter her body, the small bump at the back of her head, the ache in her limbs from exhaustion. There is no peace in the real world, not like in her dreamland.

She forces herself up off her cot and over to the cabinet. She pulls the bread out from it place and takes a few small bites, ripping off another large chunk to give to Gavroche when she sees him. She pulls her tattered, old scarf around her neck and heads out the door and down the corridor.

He answers at the first knock, as if he'd been expecting her. His smile is bright, like in her dream, and she returns it with equal fervor. "Ponine," he greets her simply. Her heart flutters at the nickname. He'd started calling her that the moment he moved into the flat across from hers. He said that he felt time a new man now that he was out from his grandfather's shadow. And, a new man calls for a new attitude. Éponine smiles at the memory.

"Monsieur Marius," she replies. He rolls his eyes at her use of the accustomed formality. It is a routine, this conversation. Despite his insistence that she do otherwise, she continues to add the formality to his name, if only for this very discussion.

"Why on earth do you insist on calling me that, Ponine?"

"You like it," she baits with a chuckle.

"I like the way you always tease," he replies, poking her in the side and leading her out to the street.

The sun is bright today. Its glow warms the seemingly always cold people of Paris and puts them in brighter spirits. She hears the laughter of a group of children from around the corner and halts in her place. She continues a moment later when she does not find Gavroche amongst the group. "He's probably already at the café, Ponine. Courfeyrac mentioned arriving early today, he's probably with him." Éponine rolls her eyes. Her brother is what one might call a people-person. He is charming, charismatic, and witty. Even the rarely-sober Grantaire is in high spirits when Gavroche is around. Despite the drunkard's obvious character flaws, her brother had taken an obvious liking to Grantaire. The boy just didn't know how to not make friends.

Marius smiles at his friend. He is quite fond of the Thénardier girl, to say the least. She is lovely and caring and good. And, her affections for her brother are charming, for lack of a better word. She is like a spot of light in the never-ending dark that is this revolution.

The pair continues on towards the café in comfortable companionship. They laugh and joke and tease just like always. Both find comfort in the other's laughter.

They finally reach the Café Musain and enter to a flurry of excitement and noise. Éponine spots her brother sitting on the bar surrounded students. They burst into laughter at something he says and Éponine can't help but roll her eyes again. Gavroche is quite the charmer, he is. She and Marius make their way over to join them.

"Hey, there's our favorite girl!" shouts Grantaire drunkenly. The rest of the boys join in greeting Éponine as she moves to her brother's side. Over the past year they have formed a sort of attachment to the girl. Marius suspects it's for the same reason he has; they enjoy her company because her constant smiles and friendliness brings joy to their otherwise monotonous lives.

"Alright, alright!" he scolds, pulling Éponine away from gang of men. "Let the poor girl alone. Give her some space, for God's sake." Éponine just laughs and the boys go back to their previous conversations. Marius pokes Éponine in the side again before joining in a conversation with Enjolras and Combeferre. Éponine stares at him for a moment, taking in the curve of his eyelashes and the freckles covering his skin, before turning back to her brother. She hands Gavroche the piece of bread she'd hidden in her pocket and he gives her a reproachful look.

"I already ate. Keep it for yourself, won'tcha?" Éponine ruffles his hair affectionately. Sometimes the boy is too caring for his own good, she thinks.

"I ate too. Save it for later," she encourages, tucking the bread into the pocket of his jacket. The boy gives her another look, taking the food back out of his pocket and ripping it in half. He hands her the smaller half, knowing she'd only reject the larger, and begins to nibble on the bread. Éponine's lips quirk in a bit of a smile and she too begins to chew on her bread.

"That's new," Gavroche says a few minutes later, pointing to a dark bruise marring his sister's collarbone. "Marius seen that one? Or is he still as oblivious as ever?"

"No and you'll do best not to inform him Gavroche. It's none of his business or his concern. Monsieur Marius as more important things to deal with." Éponine's gaze unintentionally drifts over to the boy in question just as he bursts out laughing. She smiles softly at the way his nose crinkles when he laughs and Gavroche scoffs from behind her.

"The old man been missing me much, has he?" he asks, eyeing her bruised collarbone and arms once more.

Éponine pulls her gaze away from Monsieur Marius and back to her brother, moving to pull her scarf over the bruises. He father's abuse is not a secret to Gavroche but, she knows he doesn't like to think on it. He is out of the house now, safe from their father and that's the way Éponine plans on keeping it. "Not that's apparent, no. But that's a good thing, 'Vroche."

"What's a good thing?" Marius chimes in coming up behind her and ruffling Gavroche's hair in much the manner she'd done moments prior.

"Nothing," both siblings answer simultaneously, though Éponine a bit more defensively.

Marius eyes them both playfully before letting it go. "Well you know, Ponine, I find it quite sad."

"You find what quite sad, monsieur?" she asks teasing, putting her hands on her hips.

"That you forget what day it is." Éponine's brow scrunches in confusion before she gives up. She is about to question his but before she gets the chance, Marius pulls something out of his jacket and kisses her on the cheek. Éponine's eyes widen and she freezes at the contact of his lips on her skin before regaining control of herself. Marius lays the cloth scarf in her hands and closes her fingers around it. "Happy birthday, Ponine."

Éponine feels foolish that she has forgotten her own birthday. Then again, her family hasn't celebrated birthdays since before they sold the inn. She blushes and looks down at the scarf in her hands. It is pretty and blue with lovely stitch work along the edges. It is much like the one she tried to steal from him years ago. She smiles at the memory and moves to embrace her friend. "Merci, Monsieur. You are right, I had forgotten."

She places the scarf around her neck and runs her fingers over the indulgent material. The fabric smells like him and is soft against her goose-bumping skin. It is by far the nicest thing she has owned in years. "Only the best for my dear friend, Ponine."

"Remind me to stay in your good graces," she teases, poking him in the side like he so frequently does to her. "Perks of the likes of these are worth hanging around your sorry bum."

He laughs unreservedly and it makes her heart flutter. She blushes.


	3. Part Two

-Part Two-

-Two Years Later-

When the knock comes at the door Éponine jumps. She cannot remember the last time someone actually bothered to knock at the door; normally her father's goons just came in as if they lived in the flat too.

Mama's eyebrows furrow as she rises from the chair in the corner where she is counting - undoubtedly stolen – coins, and makes her way to the door. She cracks it open and Éponine hears muffled conversations, though she can't make out what is being said. She goes back to mending the hole in the old tattered scarf she's owned forever, the pretty one Marius had given her hidden away in the pocket of her jacket, as always. She very rarely wears it, simply preferring to keep it close to her as a memento. She doesn't wish to think of what her parents might do if they should find it. She pulls the thread through one last time before knotting off the end and cutting the excess away with her teeth. The mention of her name from the door catches her attention and she meets her mother's eye.

"There's someone calling for you, Éponine." Although the Madame's face is hard and cold, her eyes are warm and loving. She has always had a soft spot for her oldest child and had only learned to love her more after Azelma's death and Gavroche's disappearance. But she is a cowardly woman, hard as stone to the core from years of misfortune and easily manipulated by her husband, Éponine reflects sadly. Mama never steps in when Thénardier hits her, never tries to work for a better life for her family, only goes along with the man's corrupt plans by way of fear. But, Éponine loves her all the same. She may not be particularly affectionate but she loves Éponine through and through, even if she is not brave enough to show it.

Mama beckons her child over to the door and pats her hair lovingly before moving away and returning to her chair in the corner. Éponine is glad Papa is out because standing at the door is none other than Monsieur Marius. "Éponine!" her mother calls before she has a chance to leave. "Don't be gone too long. You wouldn't want to anger your father," she says with only a hint of sadness, eyeing the bruises marring her child's arms guardedly.

Éponine nods curtly before closing the door firmly behind her. "Are you mad?" she hisses, coming to face Monsieur Marius.

"Not that I'm aware," he replies, grinning that terribly charming grin that both infuriates her and makes her blush at the same time. But, she swallows down the butterflies in her stomach in order to properly scold him.

"What if my father had been home?" Marius had never had the misfortune of meeting Monsieur Thénardier and Éponine planned on keeping it that way.

"Then I would have politely said hello before taking his lovely daughter out on our daily walk," he says, tugging playfully on the ends of her hair. Éponine looks up at him disgruntledly from underneath her eyelashes before letting up. She can't help but return his grin.

"Yes of course, how silly of me. How could he not fall for that wicked charm of yours, Monsieur Marius?" she teases, poking him in the side.

Marius's answering grin seems to brighten the corridor it is so grand. "How many times have I told you not to call me that, Ponine?" He hooks his arm around her shoulder and playfully pulls her to him. She falls ungracefully against his chest and the pair bursts into laughter.

Éponine stills, hushing him for fear of her mother overhearing their banter. She pulls him down the corridor by the hand. "I couldn't tell you, monsieur."

"Obviously not enough since you still insist on the silly formality," he says, affectionately ruffling her already messy hair and hurrying down the steps of their building. Éponine stares after him longingly for a moment. These moment, these touches, are frequent and friendly. She frowns at the word. Surely that is all Monsieur Marius sees them as, _friendly_. Meanwhile every one of these recurrent embraces sends a sharp stab of yearning through her. She pushes these familiar feelings aside before following after him down the steps and into the warm June sun.

They walk in familiar companionship for a few minutes, laughing and teasing. Marius eyes a suspicious bruise on Éponine's jawbone fastidiously. Over the past two years the boy has become more and more observant. Ever since little Gavroche mentioned offhandedly Éponine taking the brunt of Monsieur Thénardier's wicked temper, Marius had felt uneasy. Although, when he questioned the young boy for more details he had simply run off, with a rushed "I don't know what you're talking about, Marius" over his shoulder.

Marius eyes the discoloration on his friend's skin once more. It is dark and splotchy and makes his stomach do somersaults. "What's that, Ponine?" he asks calmly, pointing to her jaw. Éponine, although very bright, is not very subtle. Her eyes widen and she quickly reaches up to cover the bruise.

"Nothing," she defends. "I just fell."

"On your jaw?" He asks incredulously, eyes narrowed. Éponine says nothing, simply nodding stubbornly instead. Marius' frustration blossoms but he fights to keep a cool head. "Like last week when you fell and had a bruised cheek? Or two weeks ago when you slipped and had a bruised shoulder? Or how about last month when you had a 'run in with the Inspector' and had those finger-like marks around your ne-"

"You know what, Marius?" She stops walking abruptly and angrily turns to face him in the street. "Perhaps you should simply leave it alone. It's not your place, Monsieur."

"It's not my place to worry for my friend?" He is angry now. He may not know the whole story or have all of the details but Marius is not stupid. He can tell when something's not right, especially when it comes to Éponine.

"No, it is not your place to go prodding in places where you do not belong, like my life." She continues walking, frustrated. Her pace is fast and manic. Why can't he just leave it alone?

This is a frequent occurrence, their arguing. Not that they don't get along, oh how they do splendidly. Simply, both are too stubborn to ever let up and their conversations sometimes turned…heated. Éponine can hold her own, which is both her argument and his problem. "I can take care of myself!"

"Can you now?"

"Yes, I can. I'm still standing, aren't I? I'm still here on my own two feet!" Ironically enough, life chooses this moment to be cruel and soon Éponine is tripping over a loose brick in the street, barely managing to keep from falling. Of course, Monsieur Marius finds this simply hilarious.

He holds his belly, laughing ridiculously as Éponine brushes the wrinkles in her skirt and attempts to regain her dignity. She stands straight and glares at him as he takes amusement in her brief encounter with misfortune. After a moment she begins to get frustrated and walks away swiftly. "No, Ponine, wait!" He calls, chasing behind her. Éponine smirks in victory. "Come back. I'm sorry!" She halts as he grabs her wrist and the all-too familiar tingle shoots down her spine.

"Well you should be," she jabs, poking him in the side and smiling. Marius gazes at the bruise on her jaw once more before deciding that it is safe to drop the conversation for now.

"I am, truly."

The pair shares a smile before continuing on their daily walk. After a few minutes of comfortable companionship, though, Gavroche runs up. His blue, red, and white revolutionary pin stands out against the grey of his jacket. The thought of what the little pin represents makes Éponine's heart stutter in nervousness. She does not like to think on it, and pushes the shadows of uneasiness away. She greets her brother warmly but he ushers her away, pulling on Marius's arm and dragging him down the street behind him. "Enjolras need you, Marius. Something about a rally this afternoon." Monsieur Marius smiles briefly at her as he's dragged away by the little boy and soon the pair is out of sight.

Éponine stands there aghast and alone. She rolls her eyes at her brother's obvious camaraderie with Marius before carrying on down the rue towards the Café Musain. She hums as she strolls, the familiar tune she heard frequently as a child and has been playing in her mind for two years now.

_There is a castle on a cloud. I like to go there in my sleep; aren't any men for me to thieve, not in my castle on a cloud. Marius is there all in white…_She continues on.

She is nearly to the café when she spots her father just across the street. She stops fast and ducks into a crowd of street urchins to which she will blend in easily. She does not wish to see her father, as always. But today especially, she is not in the mood for him to ruin her good day. She follows quietly behind the gaggle of urchins before breaking off and hurrying down a side alley. She follows the path behind a few buildings until it lets out by the river.

Éponine strolls along the Seine for a while before settling against a tree, the grass surrounding it tickling her ankles and the rough bark pressing into her shoulders. She hums her song for who knows how long before her eyes start to feel heavy. Sleep is hard to come by in the Thénardier house, especially on nights when out on the job with her father's goons, she muses grumpily. She is quickly losing the battle against her tiredness, her song fading as she does. The boys won't miss her too much, she assures herself just as she succumbs.

When she wakes it is a few hours later, judging by the position of the sun. Éponine wipes the sleep from her eyes before making her way back the way she'd come, keeping a sharp eye for her father or his goons. She is nearly back to the café when she hears it: a loud ruckus coming from a bit down the way. There is a large crowd gathered, all of them yelling and cheering and chanting words Éponine can't make out. She pushes her way to the center of the people to see what all of the commotion is about. Her heart beats a bit out of rhythm at what she finds.

Enjolras is there in all his glory, standing on a makeshift platform and yelling his liberal ideas of revolution that, quite frankly, terrify Éponine just a bit. But, what terrifies her more is that Marius is there beside him. His eyes are bright and his words are passionate. Cheeks flushed and hair mused he shouts into the crowd alongside Enjolras. "Lamarque is ill and fading fast! Won't last the week out, so they say."

"With all the anger in the land, how long before the judgment day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size?" Enjolras' eyes are a bit mad with passion and Éponine is horrified. She doesn't know what might become of her Monsieur Marius if he and his friends keep up with these petrifying ideas. Her eyes are wide and her heart is stuttering and she doesn't know what to do. She feels the people shift around her, pushing into her sides and shouting all around her but she is unable to respond. She nearly faints when she hears the next words out of Enjolras' mouth. "Before the barricades arise!"

Suddenly she can't breathe. For years she has heard her friends and brother talk of this revolution. And, although she agrees with them wholeheartedly, she cares for exactly two people in this world: little Gavroche and Monsieur Marius. Even the notion of what might become of them when this - undeniably inevitable, the way Enjolras speaks of it - violence at the barricade ensures makes her want to weep.

The crowd begins to dissipate but Éponine can't tear her eyes away from Marius. He is caught off guard when his grandfather calls his name and roughly grabs his arm. She can do nothing but stare. "Do you have any idea the disgrace you've brought to this family?" Her heart breaks for him. Despite their obvious differences, Monsieur Marius loves his grandfather very much. The man raised him and loved him in return. She sees a flicker of sorrowful emotion in Marius' eyes before they harden and he is once again the hardheaded, determined boy she has come to love.

Monsieur Marius rushes off then, back towards the café, entering and greeting his friends. Éponine follows a bit behind him but does not go in, simply watching from the window. Enjolras is already back from the rally, looking bright faced and pleased. The pair talks for a few minutes, Enjolras clearly excited and Marius perhaps a bit less so. Before long Marius leaves once more, not noticing Éponine when he walks past. She ignores the quick stab of hurt she feels before rushing into the café.

She is greeted with loud cheers and chants of "There she is!", "Éponine, where've you been!", "Been missing you, mademoiselle", that she is accustomed to hearing upon her arrival. She ignores these though and marches up to Enjolras, angry and concerned. She doesn't even get to speak before he is addressing her as if he is doing her a favor. "Éponine, what can I do for you?"

"What exactly is it you're trying to do here, Monsieur?" She is harsher than she'd meant to be, but perhaps that is best.

"I believe it is a well-known fact what I am trying to do here, mademoiselle. You are not stupid, Éponine. You know."

"Yes I do. Revolution this and revolution that. It's all you ever talk about and I think it's ridiculous! Are you trying to get people killed? Do you wish to-"

"Of course I don't wish for people to die, Éponine. I just said that you are not stupid; don't do yourself the disservice of contradicting me." His voice is angry but his eyes are soft, pitying her as if he knows a secret.

His appeasing gaze makes her uncomfortable and she snaps. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"You think I don't see you, Éponine but I do. I see what you think. This is about one thing and one thing only for you: Marius." She opens her mouth to protest but he raises his hand to stop her. "I know you love him."

"You know nothing." She is angry and confused and conflicted and scared. _He knows nothing_, she tells herself.

"Yes, I do. I know you love him and don't want him to get hurt but you need to realize that there is nothing you can do. This revolution is going to happen despite your obvious distaste for it. And Marius _will_ be a part of it whether you love him or not. I know that you are scared, Éponine."

"Oh that's rich, patronization from the loveless revolutionary that cares for no one but himself." It is harsh, she knows. And, to be honest, she knows nothing of Enjolras but she is scared and angry at him for figuring out her secret, so she is mean. She knows it is untrue, the part of him caring for no one but himself. If he cared for only himself he wouldn't plan an entire revolution for the people.

"You must realize, Éponine, that this is so much bigger than just you." He gives her one final pitying look but she is done listening to him. She turns on her heel quickly and leaves in a flourish of dirt-stained skirts and bare feet. She makes her way back to her building but forgoes the nonexistent comfort of her own home, instead heading straight for Monsieur Marius'.

She doesn't knock, he knows she's there. He always knows. And, she knows him. She _knows_ him and she _knows_ that he is upset by his unexpected encounter with his grandfather. She'd give anything to make him smile. "Hey monsieur, what's new with you? Still pretending to be poor? Come on, I know your grandpa's rich."

It works and the boy laughs, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Where have you been, Ponine? The boys were looking for you."

"Oh, you know," she says, gesturing vaguely, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Around."

He laughs again, moving to sit next to her. "Little Ponine, always up to no good!" He pulls on the end of her hair and she joins in his laughter.

Later, as they once more walk the streets of Paris, their hands brushing together innocently enough, yet somehow still managing to make her stomach jump in excitement every time, she reflects on the simplicity of their relationship. She is his and he is hers. Perhaps not in the way that she wishes he was but, they have each other nonetheless. Yes, she is his. She knows that he feels nothing aside from friendship towards her and yes, it hurts to think about but still, she is _his_. Every look he gives her makes her heart stutter, every word he whispers to her sends flutters through her chest, and every simple brush of his fingers against her makes her weak. And, every thought she has is of him. If only he noticed her, she'd be his in a heartbeat.

But, putting that aside, they are really very simple. She is there for him constantly, and he for her. They have a routine, their days together made up of city walks, endless banter, and playful touches. They are each other's and that won't ever change.

"Éponine!" she hears her father growl from her brooding spot. She had not seen him there and Éponine panics for a moment. Her father, although seemingly unaware of her friendship with Monsieur Marius, is not particularly fond of the students, often referring to them as "spoiled little rich bastards with too much time on their hands." Thankfully, though it does not seem that her father notices Marius. She shoves him away and hisses for him to _leave, Monsieur_ before begrudgingly going to take her place next to Montparnasse and her father's goons.

Her father addresses a strangely familiar man, pulling him into a rickety cellar and begging for money with some heartbreaking, yet decidedly false story of a starving infant. But, Éponine isn't paying much attention; her world seems to slow down impossibly as something else has caught her eye. Across the courtyard Monsieur Marius has stopped in his tracks. He is locking eyes with a girl, a beautiful blond bourgeoisie girl in a lovely dress and a pretty hat. A girl with blushing cheeks and hair that is clean and curling. And, all of a sudden, Éponine feels more inadequate than she has ever in her life.

Her heart clenches rather painfully before she spots a flash of blue coat from the corner of her eye. Coming down the street is Inspector Javert. His face is as stern and cold as ever, completely enthralled in the need to do his job. Éponine is just able to get her bearing back in order and yell, "It's the police, disappear. Run for it, it's Javert!"

All around her the rue explodes into a flurry of energy and the unbearable slowness that she had felt a moment before is swallowed up in the blink of an eye, everything moving so impossibly fast all of a sudden that she becomes dizzy. Through the madness she hears the man yell for his child, _Cosette, Cosette_, but she does not register it. Suddenly her mother is yelling and Gavroche is there and Éponine can feel Montparnasse's breath on her and then she is pushed out of the way as Javert and his men storm onto the scene. Her already bruised shoulder slams into the hard stone of the wall and she winces in pain. Looking around she sees that Monsieur Marius has disappeared once again and, while the inspector is speaking, the man and young girl vanish as well.

Éponine pushes a few strands of filthy hair from her eyes as she refocuses on the situation at hand. The world has slowed back down to a normal pace and she is able to breathe a bit better. The inspector finishes his lecture with a crude "clear this garbage off the street," looking at her parents as if they are the scum of the earth and rudely pushing her brother out of the way. Thénardier gives Gavroche a cruel glare before her family disperses and Éponine finds herself once again searching for Monsieur Marius. She does not find him immediately and is slightly relieved. She is not particularly fond of Marius witnessing the lowliness of her familial situation. She knows he is well aware that they are struggling, living in the same building and all, but she'd rather he not think of her as the criminal that she is. She both shudders and smiles a bit at the memory of their first meeting, when she tried to steal his scarf, not many years after she and her family were forced to sell the inn.

Thoughts of the inn cause Éponine gasps as a name rings through her mind. _Cosette_. The man had yelled it, gone after the young girl. _Cosette_. The girl Marius had been holding gazes with. "Cosette, now I remember. Cosette, how can it be?" she mumbles the words, thinking aloud to herself and trying to sort out her memories. "We were children together." Images of the young blond child in rags and bare feet, holding a tiny string doll and singing of castles on clouds flash through Éponine's mind. She scowls, looking down at her own rags and bare feet. "Now look what's become of me."

She indulges in a rare moment of self-pity, thinking of the beautiful life she might have lead had her family never gone broke. She shakes the treacherous thoughts from her head through. _If we hadn't moved to the city I would have never met Monsieur Marius._ And suddenly he's there. His smell surrounds her and she can feel and sense him right there next to her before she even sees him. His eyes are bright, like in her dreams of him, and Éponine can't help but grin at the thought of her dream-Marius smiling at her lovingly. Her smile fades instantly though when he asks of the girl. _Cosette_. "Some bourgeois two-a-penny thing."

But Marius is smiling brightly and Éponine's heart does a flip-flop in her chest in confliction. Monsieur Marius is smiling, which means he's happy; and, there is nothing Éponine loves more than when her love is happy. But, that smile is not for her and, her chest constricts painfully at the thought that it never will be.

Éponine breaks a bit more on the inside when he has the _gall_ to ask her to find the pretty girl for him. "What will you give me?" she teases, batting her eyelashes girlishly and smirking up at him. She can feel her dimples poke through when he replies with a grin and an _anything_, her smile splitting her face. "Got you all excite now but God knows what you see in her." She's only teasing- mostly, anyway. But Marius doesn't seem to catch on, he's simply gazing off lavishly into nothing. "Ain't you all delighted now?" The final blow lands then, Éponine's chest seemingly breaking open and the teasing smile dropping off her face. He offers her _money_. If she was less of a person there would be tears stinging her eyes, but instead she just frowns at him dismissively and pushes his hand away. "No I don't want your money, _sir_."

She emphasizes the final word. He looks at her strangely then, perhaps catching onto her distaste. The pain in her chest eases for a moment when he smiles down at her. But, then he is begging her once more to find the girl, spewing sentiments of "Oh, Éponine. I'm lost until she's found" and warning her to be careful of her father's wrath and she is just so _confused_. How can he be so infatuated by this girl, this Cosette but still worry about Éponine's well-being? How can he not see her standing right in front of him, holding back her tears and so utterly conflicted? How can he?

She can't think and so she goes. She nods her compliance before following in the direction she last saw the ghosts from her past. She can't think and she can't breathe and she definitely can't hold back her emotions any more. She keeps the tears at bay but the shudders wrack her chest as she hurries away from the single person that actually makes her life worth living.

Suddenly, their nice, simple relationship just got a whole lot more complicated.

Later, much later when Marius and Cosette are acquainted and frolicking appropriately in their newfound love Éponine isn't feeling in any kinder spirits. Her moods darken further when she spots Montparnasse coming around the corner. Her eyes widen instantly; wherever 'Parnasse is, her father is certain to not be far behind.

Her heart stutters painfully at the realization of what is coming. Although Monsieur Marius is more than aware of the ways in which she makes her keep, Éponine would rather he not think on it often. He's bound to already think down on her, everyday reminders of her thievery are certain not to help. She begins to panic. While Monsieur Marius is in the gardens of number fifty-five Rue Plumet with Cosette, she is out here with Montparnasse, her father, and his band of goons. It is surely incriminating.

She rushes to 'Parnasse and he is quick to put his arms on her shoulders and hold her steady. Her breathing is heavy and she is panicked. "'Parnasse, what are you doing here? You mustn't be here."

Despites his cold heart and questionable morals, Montparnasse has always held a liking for Éponine. Yes, he is cruel like most others of her father's gang members, but his eyes were always warm when they look upon her. "You father is in need of money, Éponine. There is to be a raid."

"Of this house?" She seizes. _No_. _What will Marius think?_ She can't afford that; she's already losing him. "'Parnasse, you must lead them away."

Montparnasse must have seen something in her eyes, something desperate because his own soften considerably as he strengthens his hold on her arms. "You know I can't do that, Éponine. My loyalties are to your father." She can hear voices coming from around the corner, they are dark and loud and angry and yelling and one of them is undoubtedly her father's. Her lower lip begins to tremble in fear.

"Please! I beg of you, 'Parnasse. Not this house. I beg of you!" But her father is already coming around the corner. Several men follow him, each one bigger and more fearsome than the last. Montparnasse instantly moves to put space between them, his face hardening but his eyes holding her gaze warily.

Her father spots her and, although he hasn't shown her any sort of attention other than abuse in years, Éponine can't help but hope that, when she pleads him to, he just might love her enough to agree to leave. He doesn't though and she should have known better. She screams, in her last attempt to right the wrong that she brings into Monsieur Marius' life simply by knowing him, and warn him of the danger. Her father strikes her hard across the cheek. She is knocked back and hits the uneven road with a shout of pain. Her father and his goons run off; Montparnasse gives her a solicitous glance before following after.

In actuality, the blow did not hurt very significantly. It is really nothing compared to the bruising strikes she is used to, the scarring blows of her father's belt against her skin or the creaking aches of her ribs in the days after a particularly harsh beating. But, at the end of the most emotionally mutilating day she's had in quite some time, the stinging reminder of her father's hate, one more person that will never love her, only manages to burn her all the more.

She hears hurried footsteps coming from the garden. With some difficulty Éponine pushes herself up off of the ground and into the shadows. She sees Monsieur Marius take hiding behind a doorjamb as Cosette's father searches the garden for intruders before returning hurriedly to his home. If she listens very closely, Éponine can hear the noises of strained conversation coming from number fifty-five, but she can't make out the words.

Once he is sure the coast is clear, Monsieur Marius takes his leave. He has a strange smile on his face and a bright gleam in his eye. He is in love.

Éponine still feels the sharp stinging on her cheek and it pains her, but what brings her to her knees is not the abusive blows her father had gifted her with. No, it's that as Monsieur Marius walks past, leaving the door of his new love's residence, he does not notice her. He does not notice the red, hand-shaped mark on her cheek or her watering eyes or her bruised shoulder from where she fell to the ground. He doesn't notice any of that and it suits her just fine. No, what makes her chest heave with sobs is that as he leaves, he does not see her whatsoever. She is invisible.

He is consumed by his own little world that consists of two people, and she is not one of them. It is Cosette and Marius now, not Éponine and Marius.

He is forgetting her already and now she's on her own.


	4. Part Three

-Part Three-

_Dearest Cosette,_

_You have entered my soul and soon you will be gone. Can it be only a day since we met and the world was reborn? If I should fall in the battle to come let this be my goodbye. Now that I know that you love me as well it is harder to die. I pray that God will bring me home to be with you. _

_Pray for your Marius. He prays for you._

Everything hurts. Everything aches and burns and throbs and Éponine can't breathe.

She's lost him.

She's lost the only good thing in her life and there is nothing she could have done to stop it. He belongs to Cosette now and the proof is right there in her hands. She eyes his boyish scrawl as she reads the letter once more. She can't believe it.

That's not true. Yes she can. She absolutely believes that Monsieur Marius is in love with the beautiful, sweet, lovely, well-off bourgeoisie girl from her childhood; she completely believes that he will live happily with her, marry her, father her children. She believes it. She believes that doesn't love her. She believes it and it breaks her heart.

How could he though? How could he possibly love a dirty, poor, withering, pick-pocketing, street rat like her? There is nothing special about her. Her hair is tangled and filthy. Her one dress is torn and dirt-smudged. She is littered with bruises and scars. Her face is caked with soot. Her feet are blistered and cracked. There is constantly dirt under nails. Her lips are chapped. Her waist is too small and her problems too big. She has nothing to offer him.

Éponine doesn't even know why she has allowed herself to hope all of these years.

She's trembling. Her eyes are leaking and her face contorting and her chest is heaving and she _can't breathe._ Great sobs escape her as she collapses against the alleyway.

She has nothing. She is nothing.

She cradles the remains of her shattered heart on the ground of the alleyway for a long while and loses track of time. She nestles herself into the corner, behind a stack of empty crates. This is where she belongs, hidden away from the world, amongst the trash and filth that litters the back streets.

She has already dealt with so much in her life. Every card life has played she has responded appropriately. When Cosette was taken away she swallowed her pride and took on her humiliating responsibilities. When her parents had lost the inn she had cradled her sibling and set to work. She degraded herself to thievery, acknowledging the damage she was doing to her heavenly soul in order to keep her sibling nourished. She had accepted the loss of her father's love and her mother's respect. Although it had taken time, she had moved on from Azlema's death and gotten on with her life. She had smiled at her younger brother encouragingly when he left home to live on his own at such a tender young age, knowing that it would mean a better life for him and a harder one for her. She survived frequent mutilations at the hands of her father and his goons for years. She'd survived.

But she couldn't survive this.

How could one live without a heart? Whether he knew it of now, whether he wanted it or not, Éponine had given Marius her heart. She'd given it away and now she couldn't get it back. But he didn't need her anymore. Why would he ever need her, the poor and useless girl that could offer him nothing, when he had Cosette?

Everything is blurry and shaking and moving and quivering and wavering around her. Her head throbs and her vision swims. Her shoulders tremble and her chest heaves painfully. The noises coming out of her are almost inhuman. She sucks in her trembling lower lip in an attempt to control herself but it is of no use. Her face continues to crumble as she falls apart. Her pulse jumps in her throat and the muscles there contract as she heaves, her lungs struggling to acquire air.

Her hands are shaking and she mistakenly rips the edge a bit. Her breathing falters again. It would be so easy, too easy; to rip the letter completely and throw the pieces into the river. Cosette would never know. Marius would think that she had moved to England and forgotten about him. She might have her chance.

She starts to heave again at her traitorous thoughts. How dare she? Marius is happy. He may not be happy with her but he is _happy_. And that is her favorite thing about Monsieur Marius: his happiness.

She refolds the letter that was never meant for her eyes and tucks away in the folds of her dress. She drags her trembling hands down her face and pushes her hair away from her leaking eyes. Her lips stretch over her teeth in a grimace she can't control. Crying is not pretty and neither is she.

She can picture it. They will marry, Cosette and him. She will wear a marvelous white dress and they will kiss in a church full of people that love them. Then, later that night they will consummate their marriage and whispered words of love amongst the bed sheets. Cosette will bear a beautiful child with shining hair like hers and freckled skin like Marius'. Their child will grow and so will their love for each other. On Sundays they will leave their quaint country home to attend mass at the convent Cosette was raised in. After, they will return home and play in the meadow behind their home, a meadow bursting with budding flowers much like the one in Éponine's dream, from her childhood.

She covers her mouth to stifle her sobs. That is her dream. She never speaks of it but it is what she longs for. Expect instead of Cosette and a lovely blond child on Monsieur Marius' arm it would be her. He would marry _her_. He would give _her _children. He would love _her_. Not Cosette, her.

Her. Éponine. Éponine who has been his friend for years. Éponine who stood by him when he planned to overthrow the government with his schoolmates even though it terrified her. Éponine who comforts him in his times of sorrow. Éponine who makes him smile when he has cold run-ins with his grandfather. Éponine who makes him smile in general.

Her breathing is coming quick, too quick. So quick her head can't keep up and her vision swims dangerously again. Her muscles tremble and twitch. Her hands begin to cramp and her mouth starts to tingle. She's breathing but she can't _breathe_.

The thought that this is it, she's finally lost the one thing that she's ever really loved, the person that was never hers to lose in the first place, makes her head throb and her pulse race. Her sobs wrack her body and she can't make it stop. She struggles to take deep, even breaths but it's not working. Her tears have soaked his skin, leaked from her eyes and down her skin, off her nose and into her chest. The ends of her hair and her dress are soaked with saltwater. She can't think and she can't breathe and she can't lose him. But, she loves him.

She loves him she loves him she loves him. And that's why she has to let him go.

And so she picks herself up off of the alleyway and wipes her tears and moves on. She dresses in her father's old clothes. They are too big and fall from her tiny frame but she manages. She tucks her hair up underneath her cap and delivers the note, only hesitating briefly before handing it to Cosette's father. She can't take it back now.

As she leaves the pretty girl's place of residence she considers briefly simply going home, curling up on her cot and wallowing in self-pity. But she knows that's not an option. Marius might not need her anymore but she needs him. She needs to know that he's safe and alright and _alive_.

And so she sneaks onto the barricade. Her brother is there and her friends are there and her Marius is there and so she's there. She's there and it's hectic and chaotic and crazy and scary. But she stays. There is where she belongs. It is a painful reminder of her everlasting loneliness that no one recognizes her. Not the boys, not her brother, and not Marius. Not until she's hit at least.

It hadn't even been a conscious decision really, to jump in front of that bullet. The bullet meant for her Marius. No, it hadn't been a decision at all; there had been no choice in the matter. He had been his usual stubborn, big-headed, overconfident, brainless self and climbed the barricade without a glance. Suddenly there was a gun pointed at him and suddenly Éponine was running and suddenly she was calling his name and suddenly she had pointed the gun at herself and suddenly there was pain and suddenly she was falling.

She hears cries all around her but she doesn't _hear_ them. She doesn't hear anything really, the blast from the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Her breathing is labored and her chest feels warm and heavy and her head feels light. She is hurting. Her eyes water but only a bit; now is not the time for tears.

And suddenly, he's there. He's standing over her looking like an angel sent from the Lord, concerned and confused and scared. "Éponine, what've you done?" He kneels down beside where she's propped up against the barricade and opens her jacket. The world has gotten a bit quieter. "Oh, God," he cries, looking at her blood-soaked shirt. "It's everywhere!"

He's touching her then. He's touching her and it both thrills and terrifies her. His hands are warm and shaking against her chest where the warm, sticky, iron-smelling blood seeps out of her wound; they are stained red instantly. He's calling for Joly frantically, but Joly is not answering. "Hold on, Ponine. You'll be alright." His words are meant to be gentle but they come out rushed and shaking. He's yelling for Joly again and Éponine can't bare it. His voice is cracking and his eyes are leaking; tears do not suit her Monsieur Marius.

She frowns at the sight of the tears streaming down his face. They stain his cheeks and make his freckles appear blurry. Or perhaps that's just the lightheadedness. His endless green eyes are swimming but she can't catch them. He's staring at her wound in horror, mouth open in shock and terror. She can't stand it. She uses her own bloody hands to cradle his face and force him to meet her eyes. What she sees there breaks her heart.

There are so many words she could say. _Don't worry_ or _I love you_ or _It's alright_. But, instead she just smiles at him sleepily. "Hold me, Monsieur." He smiles at her in return but his mouth is trembling and the tightening of his skin causes more tears to fall. He readjusts himself so the he can hold her close to his chest. His arms cradle her and she sighs in content. She may not have him but she has this, and it's enough for now.

Her eyes begin to fall closed as the heaviness of sleep sets in on her. She is smiling. How can she not when she is with him? She can feel his chest heave beneath her and it frightens her endlessly. "Oh God, Éponine." He is whispering now, as if trying not to disturb her. Her runs his bloody hands through her tangled hair and wipes the tears she hadn't realized were falling from her eyes. "This is all my fault, Ponine. I'm so sorry." He has managed to control his sobs enough to look her in the eye and her close and make her feel safe. But, Éponine knows him. She knows that he is scared and trying to hold it together for her sake. It makes her love him all the more.

"No, Monsieur. This was my choice." It is a lie. There was only one choice: _save him save him save him._ But, small comforts are all she can offer him. "Don't fret. I'm not in pain."

"Ponine-"

"Besides," she cuts him off, fearing what he might say. "It was my pleasure to rescue such a lovely damsel in distress. What would your pretty boy hide do without me, Monsieur?" Her heart melts at his laughter; it is a sound that she will cherish in her last moments. But his laughter soon dissolves into sobbing. She shakes as he does. They shake together.

"Please, please don't die on me, Ponine. I beg of you." She brings a trembling hand up to cradle his cheek and uses her thumb to rub at his freckles, indulging at least somewhat in her fantasy to count every last one of them. She tries to smile up at him encouragingly but her head feels heavy and her eyes are weary and she can't hold on much longer.

Somewhere in the distance Éponine can hear Courfeyrac trying to console her brother. _It's alright 'Vroche. I know, I know. It's alright. Come here, it's alright. I've got you. _The young boy's sobbing makes her heart clench painfully and her chest wound burn; she is forced to tune out her brother's cries.

Marius's eyes are closed as he continues to cry into her hair, murmuring apologies that break her heart. She can't bare this pain. "Marius," she whispers. She'd give anything to see those eyes just once more before she expires. "Look at me, monsieur." He does. The endless green pools of his eyes meet her brown and it takes her breath away. She smiles at him lovingly and he returns it. He runs his hand through her hair one last time and pulls her impossibly closer to him. Her breath is coming out in labored pants now and they both know it won't be very much longer. Her hand is still cradling his cheek and she strokes the skin there once more before whispering to him. "Be happy, Marius."

A fearsome sob escapes Monsieur Marius' mouth as he nods at her request. He leans down and places his lips delicately against hers for the briefest of seconds; it makes Éponine's spirits soar and her heart jump but her body is still weak. She smiles beautifully up at him and Marius is grateful he is able to see in one last time. In this moment, with Monsieur Marius holding her, she is happy. He lays his forehead against her own and crushes her against him desperately. Her hand falls away from his face then and it seems as though a hole has been ripped through his chest.

"Ponine." His voice trembles but she's already gone. She looks peaceful somehow. Even in death she is lovely and beautiful and takes his breath away. He can see the outline of the dimple in her right cheek that poked out whenever she smiled that smile he loved so much, the one that lit up his whole world. His tears come impossibly fast, splattering against her clothes and her skin and her, her, her. But, she is gone and he is here and suddenly the world seems dark and cold.

The world crashes back down around him then. The gunshots have stopped for now and somewhere behind him Gavroche is screaming and crying for his sister; Courfeyrac and Grantaire attempting to console him but to no avail. Enjolras is looking at the pair brokenheartedly as the rest of the schoolboys stare on with tears in their eyes as well. Finally, Joly is there, pulling Éponine out of his arms. He sobs again, reaching for his beloved friend. No, he can't let her go now. "Éponine!" He tries pulls her back down to him but Grantaire and Feuilly, are there to restrain his, whispering words that are supposed to be comforting but only manage to shatter his heart.

Joly takes Éponine from his arms once more and Marius can only watch in pain. "Let me try to make her comfortable, Marius," he says before departing back towards the Café. _There is no comforting her,_ Marius thinks remorsefully. _She is dead. The only comfort for her now is God. _

His vision swims and he hears Enjolras tell him to rest just before his eyes fall closed and he is lost.

Back in the café, Enjolras and a few of his fellow students regroup solemnly. They speak in hushed tones, there are sleeping boys all around; some that will wake and some that will not. Joly is working on Éponine over in the corner, his growls of frustration draw Enjolras' attention. "It's a shame," he says, approaching the pair. "She was so young."

Joly does not look up. He does not even respond. He is much too busy. He did not tell Marius that she was still alive, did not want to give him false hope if there was such little chance. But he must save her, he _must. _This is Éponine. Marius's Éponine. Marius' dear friend Éponine and a friend of his own. He did not have time to think on her pretty face or her smile or the joy she brought to the boys' lives every day just by being near and impressing them with her constant wit and banter. No, he hasn't the time. She is important to Marius and important to them, a reminder that even those in the most unfortunate of circumstances can see the world in a new light.

No, she can't die.

Her shirt is sticky and weighed down by blood; Joly had to cut it away. He does not have the time to worry about decency when he cuts the bindings wrapped around her chest away as well. They are in the way and have to go. He uses the extra fabric to staunch the flow of blood from her wound. Her lips are pale and her eyes unmoving but she is alive. She is breathing, very minutely but breathing nonetheless. Joly's hands shake as he uses a dirty pair of tweezers from his bag to extract the bullet from the wound below her right collarbone. It is gaping and ugly and gushing blood. Joly feels a bit woozy. True, he knows what he's doing but he's not a doctor yet. He's only a student and his friends are dying all around him and who knew this revolution would end so badly and this is Éponine and she just can't die. She can't.

With great difficulty he retrieves the bullet and drops it on the floor next to where she lies. There is blood coating his and he accidently nicked a bit of her skin and he's glad she's not awake because it would be agony, complete and utter agony to have someone digging in your skin and pulling something out of you. Joly wipes the sweat from his brow before cracking on. He takes a needle and some thick thread from his bag before setting back to work. He winces as he pierces her skin and cooling blood flows through his fingers. Her skin is becoming more and more lackluster as the minutes go on and Joly starts to panic. Don't die don't die don't die, Éponine.

He finishes with the thread and knots it off at the end, leaving the little bit of string to cut away later. He looks up at her face for the first time since beginning work. It is frighteningly pale and sunken. He freezes at the sight, his restless fingers halting for the first time in minutes. Her chest is not moving. He checks her pulse, desperate to find something. Neck, wrist, elbow, foot, knee, temple. Nothing. He cannot find it.

He sits back on his knees, defeated and heartbroken. Out of breath and dispirited. She is gone. "I'm sorry Éponine. I wish I could save you." He pushes some hair away from her face and observes her pretty features. He swallows back his tears as he thinks of this beautiful girl and the hope and light she brought into the café every day. She was so sad. Sad and beautiful and tragic, this girl that loved with everything she had and made every sacrifice she could for those she cared for. "I'm so sorry." He rises to join the other boys out on the momentarily quiet barricade disconsolately, remembering to avoid Marius's sorrowful gaze when he passes by.

Before he leaves, though Joly looks down at his beautiful, loving friend one last time. She is dead and gone and surely only one of many that will fall upon this barricade.

When the fighting resumes come the morning time it is with an enhanced since of grief. The other barricades have not stirred and they are the only ones left. They are much too prideful to go down without a fight but much too realistic to remain in high spirits. They know they will die today.

Spirits are running low when Gavroche crosses the barricade to gather ammunition. "Come back Gavroche; don't you dare!" The cry alerts Courfeyrac and he is suddenly taken over by panic. He calls for the boy frantically, desperate for him to come back from the immediate danger. He tries to cross the barricade himself but the other students hold him back. They can't afford to lose another friend.

"Gavroche, Gavroche!" He is desperate and there are tears in his eyes. _Not Gavroche. Please not Gavroche._ The pair had become like brothers over the last few years since the younger boy had left his home. They were constantly in each other's company and Courfeyrac loved Gavroche more than he could bear. When one of the National Guardsmen hit Gavroche square in the shoulder, Courfeyrac breaks free from his companions and barrels towards the boy. Gavroche is knocked to the ground in pain but even still is reaching for an ammunition pack, determined to help his friends in any way he can.

Courfeyrac is just making it around the barricade when another shot is fired, hitting his brother square in the chest. Gavroche is dead before he hits the ground. The sound that comes from Courfeyrac's mouth is inhuman. He is desperate and pleading and sobbing and unthinking. He runs out into the streets and collects the boy, not giving a second glance to the forgotten ammunition packs on the ground. He rushes back around the barricade, Marius covering his back as he carries the boy.

He lays the small boy down on the ground and cradles his body to him. Sobs escape his chest desperately. _No, not Gavroche. Please not Gavroche_. The Thénardier boy is the closest thing he has to family and now he is gone. The tears come fast and streaming and suddenly Combeferre is there consoling him. But Courfeyrac cannot be consoled; his brother just died. He thinks back to the promise he made Éponine years ago to keep her brother safe no matter what. He looks at the boy lying dead on the cold Paris rue and his tears come faster; he has failed them, Éponine and Gavroche both. He has failed them.

Around him, his friends are a mixture of hatred and grief. They vow victory, they vow revenge. "Let us die facing our foes; make them bleed while we can." Courfeyrac vows for Gavroche though, the spirited young boy – no, man. Gavroche would have hated being called just a boy - brave beyond measure and wise beyond years. "Let them pay through the nose. Let them pay for every man!" He tears blur his vision and he grips Combeferre's arm in pain. But he is determined, determined not to let Gavroche's death mean nothing.

"Let others rise to take our place until the earth is free!" And with Enjolras words, the boys' spirit is restored. They will fight and they will die but they will die in the name of revolution and freedom.

There is panic in the streets now. Civilians hide away in their homes behind locked doors and closed shutters. They listen to the cries of the rebels in the street; cries of anger, cries of fear. But mostly, cries of death. As the rebels run for the Café Musain and for shelter, Marius feels a sharp pain in his side, falling to the ground. He hears someone – the volunteer? – call his name but he is losing focus. His eyes have gone blurry much too quickly. The pain in his side is unbearable and his body starts to shut down. He can see the blood spreading on his white shirt and it reminds him of his Éponine; his darling Éponine that died to save him, only for him to die as well? This thought rekindles something in him and he manages to drag himself a few feet closer to the café before collapsing altogether.

His eyes close and he can see Cosette's face; her beautiful, white as snow face that smiles up at him from the comfort of her blooming gardens at number fifty-five Rue Plumet. Her teeth are white and her eyes are sapphire and her hair is golden and she is the definition of angelic. He smiles at the thought of her beauty. But, just as he is about to lose consciousness, Ponine crosses his mind. Her dirt-streaked, ever-smiling face. Her constant teasing and ability to make him laugh even on his worst days. Her passion and determination and stubbornness that both drives him mad and sends flutters through his chest. The way she would throw her head back so completely when she laughed; there were no soft, lady-like laughs for Ponine. No, if she found something amusing she would grab her waist and squeeze her eyes shut and throw her head back and laugh. And when she was finished laughing, her eyes would shine just a bit brighter than they normally did. It was the thought of those shining brown eyes that lulled him into unconsciousness.

There is death everywhere. Lined up in the alleyways in neat little lines, scattered across the barricade, littering the National Guard's front lines, crowded in the corridors of the Café Musain, and now, surrounding Enjolras.

As three of his closest friends, his comrades, his fellow revolutionaries fall dead around him dread fills Enjolras' heart. His chest constricts as he reaches for them as they fall. They hit the floor with a resound _thump_, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. There is no longer any hope for them.

A National Guardsmen is there then, standing before him and pointing their guns at his chest. The man's hands are remarkably steady and he looks pleased at having the leader of the revolution up against a wall. Enjolras meets the guardsman's eye, stone-faced and unafraid. _This is it_, he thinks, flag in hand. _Vive la France_.

But then Grantaire is there, ever-present bottle noticeably absent from his hand. He pushes past the guardsman to stand next to Enjolras. Enjolras hears the floorboards of the old, crumbling building squeak underneath them. Neither man says a word but they share a common thought: _Long live the revolution._

Just as a shot is fired Enjolras feels the floor give out from underneath him. Just as he hits the main floor with a painful lurch, he hears Grantaire cry out above him. There is a painful twinge in Enjolras' arm from where he fell on it oddly but he is alive and well nonetheless. Above him he hears Grantaire swearing and spewing slurred consonants of _vive la France!_ as the guardsman's heavy footsteps can be heard approaching the drunkard.

Enjolras climbs shakily to his feet in the prospect of helping his dear friend when something catches his eye. In the corner lies Éponine. She has been dead for many hours now but how can that be? How can she be dead when he can see for himself that her eyes are open and she is sweating and heaving and vomiting and cowering in the corner and terrified? She looks up unexpectedly and meets his eye drowsily, favoring her right side. Enjolras meets her gaze and he knows then that she is well.

He does not have time to contemplate a miracle from God, or focus on Grantaire's final cry before death on the floor above, or question her miraculous rising from the dead. He can hear the National Guardsman's footfalls on the stairs and, without thinking, he is running to scoop up Marius' Éponine and diving through the hidden door and down the stairs into the wine cellar underneath the bar. His arm tingles painfully as he manages her weight but he ignores it with a muffled grunt. Éponine is coughing and Enjolras presses her mouth to his shoulder in an attempt to stifle the sound, lest she give away their position.

From their hiding spot below ground, in the dark and dank cellar of the Café Musain, Enjolras hears the National Guardsman mutter a disdainful _coward_, before moving on his way. Enjolras huddles himself into the far corner of the cellar, cradling Éponine to his chest. She is in shock, shaking and trembling and shivering and _scaring him_. Her lips are a ghostly white and she has dark circles underneath her eyes. Her breath is coming incredibly fast.

"Enjolras," she whimpers softly. Her ripped shirt does nothing to protect against the coldness of the cellar or the situation. There are horrible wracking sobs coming from her mouth, rotund tears fall from her eyes and soak her skin, her wound itches and burns something fierce and she can't stop shaking. The confusion and shock and horror of the situation hit her full force and she begins to hyperventilate. Her stomach trembles and her lower lip trembles and _she_ trembles and she has no idea what is has become of her, her friends, her Marius and _she can't breathe!_

Enjolras pulls her closer, trying to keep her warm and calm her. He comforts her frantically with soft shushing noises, whispering words of "Breathe Éponine. Just breathe." But it's not working and she can't.

They continue like this until they both lose track of time. By then, the streets are empty once again and they are safe for the time being.


	5. Interlude

-Interlude-

In which many months pass and many things change.

– One Month Later –

"Where are we going?" The words are whispered harshly in the dead of night as she drags him behind her. Their feet – his clad in expensive but worn boots while hers are ever-bare – make little sound as they proceed. They'll need to remain unobserved for this arrangement to work.

"Someplace they'll never look for or find us, Monsieur." She peers around the corner of a sagging building warily before continuing cautiously. "And but 'us' I obviously, very well mean 'you.'"

"I told you to stop calling me that," he says gruffly. They're words she's heard a thousand times before – whereas before they came from him they frequently came from the lips of another handsome bourgeois boy - but the habit is a hard one to shake. One look at his fine, bourgeois clothing reminds her that her place on the social ladder is far inferior to his own. She frequently is thankful that they are currently in hiding, lest he have the option to be embarrassed by her very presence and leave her on her own once more. The thought is an uncomfortable one, as loneliness is not a feeling she is overly fond of.

She doesn't tease him. No, he is much too fragile for that, after what happened and all. Instead, she ignores his words and settles for tugging on his hand more firmly, leading him though the abandoned streets of Paris.

They aren't friends per say, more extremely necessary crutches for which to help carry the burden of the others' pain, guilt, and depression. In the month since the rebellion – he hates (no, loathes) that word as it implies failure of impact. In this case the implication is accurate and it kills him inside. He attempts to push the swell of guilt in his abdomen at bay but fails – the pair had attempted to nurse each other back to health. They'd taken refuge in the convent hospital – the nuns had tactfully dodged the National Guard's crass interrogations as they searched for anyone involved in the rebellion. The ladies of God skillfully keep the pair's whereabouts a secret; whether or not the Lord would consider those particular lies to be sins, neither was sure. But, they were grateful nonetheless. – as he fought off crippling night terrors, a world of guilt, and depression while recovering from a two flesh wounds (one on his right shoulder and the other his left thigh) as well as a dislocated shoulder. Meanwhile she battled a raging infection that nearly killed her, undoubtedly more slowly and far more painfully than if the bullet that pieced her chest had been a mere inch to the left. Additionally, both try and mend the wounds left by abandoned love- him for a country he now knows he'll never see free, and she a boy who she'll never have.

As soon as the pair is fit to leave the hospital's care, they bid the nuns an abundance of thanks and depart into the chilling night breeze. Although still only early July, the ominous atmosphere that beclouds Paris seems to make everything a bit colder.

She subconsciously dodges a puddle as they round another corner and approach a rusted iron gate. "This is it," she breathes haggardly – her stamina is not nearly what it was only a month ago. Then again, a bullet to the chest will do that to you.

"Where is it, exactly?" he asks curtly, exhausted from illness and guilt and late night excursions though abandoned Parisians streets with a girl he is only just getting to understand.

"I told you," she sighs, half irritated, half relieved. "Someplace they'll never find us." She's rather proud that she'd thought of this. Then again, hiding in plain sight had always been a particular strength of hers. "Don't worry, no one lives here anymore."

He gives her an incredulous look before assessing the gate with contemplative eyes. The lock is beyond rusted after the two straight weeks of rain they'd encountered and he is able to unfasten it without much fuss. The gate swings open with a load creek and the young pair freezes, afraid of being discovered. After a moment of uninterruptedly tense silence though, he gives her the barest of smiles before gesturing though the gate. "After you, mademoiselle." She scoffs at him lightheartedly but doesn't comment.

After a beat, he follows behind her through the old rusted gate and into number fifty-five Rue Plumet.

-Two Month Later, Late September 1832-

He is somber, reflective, calm even. His freckled face is as lacking of emotion now as it has been for the past few months. Since the revolution, he hasn't much been up for merriment. He sees them everywhere: in the shadows, in the corner of his vision, in his dreams. They haunt him like the ghosts in the stories he heard as a much younger school boy. Perhaps they are actually there and not some figments of his traumatized, war-rattled and confused mind. He'd prefer that really. Then at least he'd know he isn't mental, hadn't gone mad from the sorrow, the grief, the guilt that bogs him down day in and day out.

They're gone. They're gone and dead, every last one of his friends, his brothers. They're gone and it's his fault. He wasn't there to help them, to save them. No, he'd been off being treated by some top class doctor for a wound that probably wouldn't have killed him anyway, that he'd received because he was distracted. He hadn't been paying attention, been shot in the side because all he could think about was her. Her, her, her and how she was gone. She was gone and never coming back and he missed her already. She wasn't just his friend; she was his everything; his comforter, his comic relief, his earthly reminder to keep his feet on the ground, his best, closest, dearest friend Éponine. And she was gone; she was dead. And it was his fault. She jumped in front of a bullet to save him, he was always her biggest concern, her main priority and he didn't even see it.

He blames her, he thinks. If she hadn't died he wouldn't have been distracted. If he hadn't been distracted he wouldn't have been shot. If he hadn't have been shot he would have been there to help his friends. If he had been there to help his friends they wouldn't be dead now. But, of course that's ridiculous. Who's to say that he wouldn't have still been distracted if she hadn't have died? And, he's not vain enough to think that he's important enough to have made much of a difference had he not been shot anyway. No, it's not her fault but he needs to be mad at her. His need to feel mad at this lovely dead girl that meant the world to him in life, because being mad at her is easier than feeling guilty for the deaths of his friends, including hers. Including his Ponine.

And then there's her confession. It was unspoken but perhaps he had always know; perhaps he had always known and was simply too afraid to acknowledge it. 'It' being her love for him, of course. The thought sends sharp pains through his chest. He knew. Of course he knew how she felt. He wasn't as completely oblivious as his friends seemed to think and Éponine was never as subtle as she thought she was. No, there is no doubt that he had known. But he did not love her. Did he? Of course he did; he loved her. Was he in love with her? Guilt blooms in his chest when he realizes that he has no immediate answer to that question. It is neither a definite yes nor no. He cared for her very much, obviously. She made him laugh and questioned his words and never took anything he said lying down. She was anything but passive and that made him smile. He loved her high spirits and fierce persona. There was that word again: love. Yes, perhaps he had loved Éponine a bit. But she was gone now and he had Cosette.

He loves Cosette. There is no question there and, if there is, the answer is a definite yes. He loves her very much. She is an angel: gentle and sweet and caring and understanding and comforting and so many wonderful characteristics that made his heart soar upon thought of his beloved. Yes, he loves Cosette. But, he is so plagued by guilt; not only for his friends but for Éponine as well. Sometimes he thinks that his guilt is a hindrance to his love for his Cosette. When he is happy for even a moment, he thinks of them, his dear friends and their horrid deaths. When he leans in to embrace his beloved, it is Éponine's face, bloodied and tear-stained that swims across his vision. He cannot escape his friends and his guilt.

With a tired sigh he rubs his eyes and drops his head against the back of the wingback chair. It has been months, three whole months of never-ending fatigue and sorrow. He barely sleeps and when he does he is plagued by them, all of them; images of their death and how he couldn't save them. He misses them, all of his wonderful friends that so effortlessly make him happy-made him happy. His brow creases as the constant throbbing in his temples worsens.

He was simultaneously utterly alone and perversely smothered all at once here in this big house that suffocates him. They are in Calais, days from Paris and lifetimes away from his past. Still though, he can't escape it. Following their rather hasty engagement, Cosette thought it best that Marius recuperate from his injuries in a low-stress, quiet place. And so, they traveled by carriage to one of Marius' many childhood estates – a lovely, well-kept manor right on the coast of the sea – for a pre-wedding/post-failed revolution recuperation/vacation. Marius can't help but think that the idea is a bit absurd but his Cosette deemed it important and so they came.

While he cares for Cosette, loves her, she is a difficult person to get accommodate oneself to. She is kind and ever-loving but, he thinks, perhaps that is part of the problem. She does not understand: she has never faced loss other than that of her birth parents, which she cannot remember. So, she does not know how to comfort him, for which, of course, he cannot blame her. She doesn't know how to comfort him either. Still, she is always there. Sometimes it is a blessing as he does not think he could handle his thoughts on his own but, other times – most times – he feels suffocated. She sweetly is always at his beck and call, for which he is grateful but sometimes – although they scare him – he just needs to be alone with his thoughts.

She sits in a wooden rocking chair in the corner across from him, embroidering something or other and humming under her breath. It is a tune that, although he can't put his finger on, plagues Marius' mind. He swears he has heard it before but whenever he thinks he has pinpointed the memories- no, there it goes again.

He lets out another exhausted sigh and Cosette looks up from her needlepoint to observe him worriedly. He scrubs a hand down his face and gives her a tired smile as best he can. She seems to be satisfied with this and returns his smile charmingly before returning to her task. Marius takes the opportunity to observe his soon-to-be bride. She is beautiful. Regal even, what with her golden hair and aristocratic features and round face. Her curling eyelashes frame her immaculately blue eyes lovingly and her lips and cheeks are ever-pink. Her face is kind and relaxed as she focuses on her chore enthusiastically. She is content.

This brings Marius pause though. He is unsure as to why but something about her unabashed enjoyment of such a mundane task causes him to falter. Cosette will be the perfect, loving, passive wife. She will care for him and bear his children and grow even more elegant with age and continue to smile at him lovingly, submissively for years to come until God welcomes her into His heavenly home. Yes, she will be a lovely bride, he thinks. He can't help but smile at her overwhelming gentleness. She is like an angel sent from the Lord. But still, something plagues his mind. He wishes he count place his hesitance.

He is drawn from his musings by Cosette's cherubic voice. "Marius, dear, you're certain everything is alright?"

He smiles at her lovingly because he loves her. Yes, he does. "Yes, love. I'm certain, just a bit distracted at the moment."

"Are you sure?" Marius bristles minutely. She's pushing, she's aware, like she frequently does when she thinks that he is being too closed-off. But really, how does he expect them to marry when he does not share all of his thoughts with her?

"Quite sure, love. No need to worry."

"I'll have Helen fix you a cup of tea. Perhaps it will calm your nerves." She rises from her chair and places her needlepoint on the side table waiting there.

"There's no need, dear. Really, no need to trouble yourself." He is subconsciously gripping the arm of his chair a bit too tightly.

"It's no trouble, Marius." Her smile is so achingly sweet and innocent and loving that he is forced to relent. "Honestly." And with that she is off in search of the housemaid without a backwards glace. Marius sighs once more.

- 2 Weeks Later -

When the letter comes Marius can't help but feel a bit relieved. He immediately feels wretched for seeing Cosette's father's misfortunes as an excuse to spend less time with his daughter but God, he can't breathe in this Godforsaken house anymore. He misses Paris and the Café and his friends-

Well perhaps only one of those things can be remedied.

So, when Cosette rushes out in a flurry of frazzled anxiety and acute worry to find him staring out into the waves of La Manche, his heart swells momentarily in something akin to fondness and understanding. The moment of passing satisfaction at his own personal gain in the matter comes and goes in the blink of an eye at the notice of Cosette's frightened features. Her father is ill and that is terrifying for her, Marius knows. Apart from himself, this is the only person she cares about – loves – in the world. The prospect of him being taken away is a chilling one, Marius knows all too well, unfortunately.

So, they pack up their belongings, bid the house staff goodbye, and head back to Paris. Marius briefly thinks he might miss the calming sea breeze as the fiacre pulls away from the now locked estate gates but quickly shakes it off. No, he misses Paris. He misses his home and longs for the claustrophobic, dense air of the Parisian streets.

At least that would be familiar.

The journey is a trying one. They travel for a few weeks and their time together is both uneventful and wearisome, what with his Cosette's incessant worrying. He can't blame her though; he is forced to constantly remind himself. He himself is quite fond of Cosette's father, a gentle man he had the pleasure of properly acquainting himself with during his, Marius', brief recovery following the rebellion; for some reason the man seems to have some sort of significant importance to him, but he can't place it. He seems to be unable to place a lot of things lately.

When they finally arrive home Cosette is out of the carriage before it is even fully stopped, leaving Marius and the coachman to unload their two months' worth of luggage.

Following the rebellion, Marius's grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand was gracious enough to allow Marius back into his home. The old man was, if not a bit smug, ecstatic to have his grandson home once more, convinced that the death of his friends and a bullet just above is right knee (a few inches south and he'd have serious problems walking for the rest of his life) was enough to knock any liberal nonsense from his mind straight away. Of course, the arrival of Cosette and her father was more than enough to send Monsieur Gillenormand into a pleasant frenzy. Had it been proper, Marius was half sure his grandfather would plan the wedding himself. Strangely enough, Monsieur Gillenormand and Monsieur Fauchelevent got on wonderfully straight off, both sharing a love of gardening and, of course, the Holy Father. So, it is with that comfort that when Marius and Cosette depart for Calais, Monsieur Fauchelevent remains behind.

After he and the coachman unload the last of the luggage, Marius follows his beloved into the house and up the spiraling staircase to her father's quarters. The sight he comes to is a bit of a heartbreaking one. Other than the dark shadows under his eyes, Monsieur Fauchelevent does not appear to be in much of a state; in fact the old man is sitting up and smiling. No, it is Cosette that sends a twinge of sadness through him. She is crying, her cheeks splotchy and her eyes rimmed with red. His Cosette has always been a fragile one, caring much too deeply for those around her to the point that even something that should cause only the slightest of worry sends her reeling with concern. Her father is patting her hair lovingly and insisting that, despite Monsieur Gillenormand's distraught letter, presently, he is feeling quite well. He taps Cosette's nose affectionately and requests she accompany him on a brief walk through the gardens as it will be one of their last opportunities before the cold really starts to set in. Cosette laughs minutely before agreeing.

The sound sets Marius at peace if only for a moment.

- One Month Later –

_He wakes up on the ground. He is surrounded by a pool of blood but it is not his own. How he knows this, he is unsure. Perhaps it is, because the streets are running with it, rivers of scarlet dribbling through the cracks in the uneven cobblestone. _

_He pushes himself up on his forearms, feeling the weightiness of his head. He feels exhausted but otherwise fine. Slowly, he rises to his feet. There is a tear in his trousers just above his right knee, blood surrounding the hole but, he notices, there is no pain, nor is there a hole there in his flesh. This puzzles him momentarily before something catches his eyes. _

_In the soft June breeze a red revolutionary flag flutters gently from the second story window of the Café Musain. This causes his to pause. The bright sunlight glints off of the broken glass in the streets as he turns to observe his surroundings. He is at the barricade. Or rather, what used to be the barricade. The street is littered with broken furniture and it reeks of blood. The scent is enough to make him gag though there are no bodies, no corpses of his beloved friends. This only serves to puzzle him further. _

_With a furrowed brow he enters the café and takes a look around. Apart from the obvious bullet holes imbedded in various places, blood smears on the walls, and a noticeable hole in the ceiling, the café seems altogether abandoned. With bated breath he climbs the busted staircase to the top level. What he finds there is enough to nearly send him tumbling down the stairs. _

_There, in what remains of the Society of Les Amis de L'ABC's meeting place is the society themselves, his friends. The sight is morbid: they sit in the chairs crowding the café, their heads rested against the wood of the tables. Their eyes are closed in death but they don't appear to simply be asleep, as everyone seems to speak of death as looking. No, even in death they look afraid. They mouths are closed and their faces peaceful but he can _feel_ the fear, it is tangible in the room. _

_The wretched sob that claws its way from his throat is inhuman. His chest feels constricted and his eyes are leaking profusely. Hesitantly, he approaches his friends one at a time. Joly and Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Jehan and Feuilly and Bahorel and Grantaire and Lesgle and Bossuet. They are all there, every last one. When he finally comes to stand in front of their fearless leader he cries out. Enjolras is there but his eyes are not closed. No, they are open and blinking up at him painfully. His mouth is open in a silent scream and blood soaks his body. His eyes are pleading and strained, begging Marius for - he doesn't know what. Tears begin to leak from the revolutionary's eyes and that sends Marius running. He runs like a coward, down the steps and out of the café and away from the barricade. He only makes it so far, however, before he hears it._

_Humming. _

_At first it's quiet, barely perceptible and coming from behind him. He nearly ignores it before the familiarity of the tune strikes him. It's that song, the one he hears Cosette sing under her breath, the one he could never place. Suddenly, it all comes rushing back to him: Comfortable walks down sun-soaked Parisian streets with a dirt-smudged girl. It is melancholy and soft but he had never failed to hear her hum the simple notes. _

_Éponine._

_He whirls around, trying to place the sound. In the corner of his vision he catches a glimpse of tangled brown hair disappear around a tight corner and he's off to follow it without a second thought. He calls for her. He knows it's her. There is no doubt in his mind. _Éponine_. Her name rings through the still air like a bell. _

_He follows her for a good while, occasionally catching a hint or two of her tattered skirt fluttering around a corner, or noticing that the humming seems to be coming from nearer than before. Finally, he comes to a stop outside of an all too familiar residence: number fifty-five Rue Plumet. The gate to the garden is wide open and he can see her inside. _

_She stands amidst the blooming flowers looking radiant despite her haggard appearance. "Ponine," he breathes her name once more before boldly stepping through the open gate. He approaches her with confidence, eager to pull her close, feel that she is alive. She stares up at him almost blankly; her humming has stopped. Aside from a few birdsongs here and there, the air is completely still. Just as he reaches out for her though, she smirks at him somewhat cheekily before disappearing altogether._

"_Éponine!" he cries, spinning frantically and trying to catch a glimpse of the teasing girl that once again has managed to slip right through his fingers. He is frantic, hands gripping his hair fiercely as he attempts to ignore the tears that had never stopped falling. _

_The humming starts again._

_His spins around in a circle once more, desperate for even one more glance of his dear friend, but she is nowhere to be found. Instead, the humming seems to be coming from everywhere all at once, resonating in the very air that is suffocating him. It is driving him mad!_

_The voice morphs then from Éponine's rich one to something higher, lighter, cherubic. He collapse onto the stone back behind him and cradles his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth trying to rid the sound altogether. _

_It doesn't work._

_The humming only gets louder until in consumes him and he is sent jerking to the ground. _

When he awakes this time the humming is still there but coming from across the room. He lifts his head from the soft pillow to see Cosette bustling about near the dresser. Shaking the memory of his dream off and wiping the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Marius asses his bride- to-be. He can't help but smile at her fondly. Whereas in Calais he felt smothered, claustrophobic even, now, he usually just feels alone.

Cosette is almost always busy tending to her father, whose health, although not declining, has yet to improve at all. Marius spends copious amounts of time on his own. Perhaps in the months prior he would not have minded, even encouraged it; now though, he finds himself too frequently thinking on memories that should be of a fond nature, but essentially only serve to upset him, bog him down with heaping amounts of guilt.

"Good morning, love," he calls to his beloved and Cosette startles, clearly unaware that he had awoken. After retaining her composure she smiles over at him sweetly.

"It's hardly morning anymore, dear; almost noon." She looks tired. The circles under her eyes are deep with exhaustion and stress from worrying over her father too much, and her hair is slightly askew. He's sure his physical appearance is less than pleasant as well.

"Is it now?" He is shocked; he has never slept so late in his life. He is only too aware that his voice is strained and soft, the recollection of his nightmare still fresh in his mind. It only goes to prove the extent of Cosette's preoccupation as she takes hardly any notice to his sweat-dampened skin and nightshirt. Normally this would send his poor betrothed into a state as she always seems to hover and worry over the smallest of things. He does not begrudge her this however, as he knows that her relationship with her father is a strong one, however weakened it might seem due to Monsieur Fauchelevent's illness – the doctors (the best money could pay for, obviously) cannot seem to pinpoint the problem, stating that perhaps Monsieur Fauchelevent is simply losing his will. Of course, words like these only serve to send his Cosette into more of a panic, and she spends the majority of her time by her father's side.

Whereas in Calais Marius felt smothered, here, in his childhood home, he felt lonely, abandoned. He misses Cosette and the casual time they spent together in the north. He misses comfortable, lazy days and quiet nights. He has those now, of course, just minus the company of his future bride and they are, clearly, far less pleasant.

Perhaps, he sometimes thinks, he misses not so much _her_ company, but company in general. Without her by his side there is no distraction, nothing to hide him from wandering through the death-drenched labyrinth that is his mind. Without her pink-tinted cheeks and shining smile there is nothing to shield him from his memories, nothing to blanket him from his guilt. He needs her – not so much to love and him and make him happy, but to protect him.

It is times of the likes of these that he misses his friends. Of course, he misses them always but when he is forced into the depths of his memory by nothing more than his loneliness his craving for their brotherhood only worsens. He thinks – and when the thought flashes through his mind, for however brief a time, he feels hopelessly wretched – that perhaps love isn't enough for him. Because he loves Cosette; he loves her but he can't help feel incomplete. He needs something more than love – he needs companionship.

Of course these desires are futile. His friends are dead and gone and not coming back. He should just move on. He should shoulder his guilt and carry on with his life, begin a new one with his Cosette by his side and _be happy_. He jerks suddenly, trying desperately to blink away the images of another girl, bloody and broken and dying in his arms, a girl that had whispered those words to him some months ago, her _last_ words. Yes, he had _promised_ her, he had _promised_ Éponine that he would be happy. And so he would.

He just needed closure.

"Yes. Your grandfather wanted to wake you but I said that you needed your rest." He is brought back to the present as Cosette speaks once more. "Though it is nearly time for luncheon and I do agree with him that it's about time you got up." She shoots him a fond yet weary smile before picking up her rosary beads from the dresser and making to leave the room. "Now I'm going to visit with my father for a bit. I'll see you in the dining room in a half hour."

"Cosette wait," he calls to her, sitting up more fully against the pillows.

She turns towards him once again, fiddling with the beads in her hands nervously. Marius can see that she is itching to be by her father's side once more. "Yes?" she answers him sweetly nonetheless.

"Won't you come sit by me for but a moment? There's something I'd like to discuss with you." He reaches his hand out, hoping the gesture seems comforting rather than demanding. She approaches readily though and sits on the edge of the bed, taking his outstretched hand.

"Is something the matter?" She looks worried and frightened, as if one more thing gone wrong could simply break her all together. She looks fragile and innocent and Marius is overcome with a rush of affection for the girl.

"No, nothing's the matter. I just wanted to ask you something." He looks to her for a response but she simply stares back at him unguardedly, so he continues. "I was thinking about taking a trip, just back to the city. I'd only be gone for a few days but there are some things that I need to tie up before I can fully move on after-" he falters here, surprised when he feels the familiar lump of sadness accumulate in his throat. "After what happened," he finishes weakly.

She looks at him understandingly and rubs her thumb over the back of his hand in comfort. "I think that'd be fine," she answers finally, giving him a soft smile. "I believe you could use the closure. When we move on into our new life together I don't want you to have any doubts or regrets, dear. Take what time you need."

He smiles up at her gratefully before swooping in to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, my love. I will leave tomorrow, I think. Why don't you take the time to spend with your father? You should have some time together without having to worry of entertaining me."

"Yes, I think I will," she agrees. "Speaking of which, I should really be getting back to him." He nods at her encouragingly and, with that she makes her departure.

When he is once again alone with his thoughts, he can't help but smile just a bit. He can feel the slight amount of promise in the air. It fills his with a hope he hasn't felt in many months.

_Be happy_, Éponine had told him. Well, this was the first step.

- The Next Day-

The air is bitter as he approaches the graveyard. The sun shines brightly, contrasting sharply with his somber mood but there is a definite chill to the air proving that autumn has set in. The leaves around him have begun to change and a few of them crinkle under his feet as he approaches her grave.

She brought him here once; a few years ago. She'd brought him here to meet her sister and he remembers it clear as day: the bright May sunshine, the few stray tears that leaked down her cheeks at the memories juxtaposed by the smile that graced her face at the fond memories she recalled of her sister, and the youngest Thénardier daughter's name spelled out in the rough stone. Yes, he remembers it quite clearly.

Now though, everything is blurry – though that may be from the tears he didn't realize he was crying. How though, he wonders, can something in the present be more blurry than a distant memory of the past? He can't find the answer but all he knows is that everything is different now. Though the sun is shining the air is cold. He is no longer a fresh-faced student filled with dreams and aspirations, but a confused young man with a world of guilt on his shoulders. And, now instead of just one name there on the Thénardier stone there are three.

Azelma Thénardier

Gavroche Thénardier

Éponine Thénardier

The last name makes his heart stutter a bit. There she is. There's his beloved Ponine right underneath his feet. The thought terrifies him more than it should. He knows she's dead, felt the life leave her as he cradled her in his arms, but it's strange to contemplate nonetheless. She's dead, when people die they are buried; but yet, the thought of her body lying there beneath his feet in daunting, horrifying even.

He notices something odd then: there are no years to mark their dates of death and birth, and it appears that Gavroche and Ponine's names were added in as an afterthought, the font messy and crooked. The stone is plain and dirty, the plot not kept up in the least. Yet there lying next to the stone is a bouquet of wildflowers. They are dead, presumably having been laid there weeks before but there nonetheless. This confuses him. Éponine was a street rat and her family that of the same name. Her siblings were dead, her parents who knows where, and she had no friends to speak of apart from Les Amis. Who would take the time to lay down flowers on the Thénardier children's grave?

"Surprisin', ain't it?" The voice startles him so violently that had the scene not been so bleak it might have been comical. "I was surprised too when 'e came, lousy fool." Standing beside him now is Madame Thénardier herself. Her face is stoic and her appearance unkempt but her aura is defeated visibly. She appears older than the last time he saw her. He'd never formally made her acquaintance, only brief glances here and there through the Thénardier home's door as he picked up Ponine for their daily walks. But, even so, he can see how much she has morphed over the past months. Her skin is even more sagging and soot-covered than he remembers her hair a bit greyer, her frown a bit deeper.

He clears his throat but says nothing to acknowledge her abrupt appearance: quickness and lightness of footing was apparently a trait passed through family. "Who," he asks, his voice just a bit strained from his tears.

"Montparnasse." She practically spits the name. Then, though, he voice is back to nonchalant. "'e was a rodent an' a thief an' a killer but 'e always did 'ave a soft spot for my Ponine." Marius can see her jaw clench firmly as she looks down at the three names sharing a gravestone. The pair remains in silence for some odd minutes, until Marius can feel the tears on his skin dry and tighten.

"How did you know?" He finally asks. The question is vague but she knows exactly what he's asking. How did you know that they were dead? How did you know you'd become the mother of dead children. Surprisingly, he feels no animosity towards the Madame. He is thankful for this, for he would want to mar his final counter with Éponine with memories of cruel words to her mére.

"I jus' did." Her reply is nearly a whisper, broken against the wind. "Once I 'eard 'bout the uprising, I could just feel 'em gone. I jus' knew." Her voice breaks then as she begins to cry. For as many superb acting skills as he knows she carries, she is not trying very hard to cover her grief. But perhaps that is the point. These are her children, her babies buried right there under her feet. She has nothing left and she knows it. What else has she to lose by crying in front of this bourgeois boy?

"I'm sorry, Madame." And he is. He is sorry that she was forced to raise her children under unjust circumstance, sorry that her life was undoubtedly cold and unpleasant and draining, sorry that her family is dead. After all, it was people like her that Les Amis were fighting for. No matter how corrupt her family was, she was a part of the _l'abaisse_.

"I don't want your _pity_," she snarls fiercely. In that moment she reminds him so much of Éponine it is physically painful; clearly Ponine inherited her take-no-charity mentality. "I jus'-" her voice clogs with tears once more. "I know I was a shit mother but help me God if I didn't love all of 'em." She wipes her tears away furiously. "I loved 'em and now they're dead, the lot of 'em and I'm on my own."

"What of your husband, Madame?"

The laugh she releases is so full of resentment he nearly shudders. "Gone. Off to America or somewhere. Said 'e couldn't afford to feed me, couldn't afford to brin' me along. So 'e up and left me 'ere to fen' for myself, the bastard." She sounds hopeless now and it breaks his heart a bit. He'd seen her love for her daughter, however unconventional it may have seemed. He'd heard her warn Ponine against her father, seen her sneak the girl a bit of bread. Yes, he had no doubt that Madame Thénardier loved her children, she was simply too afraid to save them.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"What I say 'bout pity, boy?" Her voice is far less vicious now. She seems to be losing her fight. They fall back into a civil sort of silence for a bit before she once again breaks it. "You knew my son?" Her eyebrow is perched and she looks mildly hopeful.

"Yes, Madame. He was a good boy. Very brave." He can only speak the highest of praises for the young gamin. The Madame scoffs.

"Always knew tha' boy was trouble. After 'Zelma died I knew it was only a matter of time 'fore my husban' ran 'im off. I was glad to see 'im go though. 'e deserved better; they all did. 'specailly Ponine. She was such a good girl. Bit of a brat, but a good girl at heart, always puttin' everybody else's happiness 'fore 'er own."

Marius can only nod in agreement. He knows all too well how self-sacrificing Ponine had been, she had, after all, led him to his Cosette. Flashes of her broken and bloody body race through his mind and he is forced to wipe fresh tears from his eyes. Yes, she _was_ a good girl at heart.

"You made 'er 'appy, you know," she says suddenly. "She loved you an' you made 'er 'appy. I could see it on 'er face."

Marius shakes his head desperately, attempting to swallow the sudden lump of guilt in his throat. "Please don't say that." His voice is thick with tears. "Just please-"

"Why not? 'S true."

"No, it isn't. I broke her heart. She loved me and I didn't see it and then I killed her. I broke her heart and I killed her."

"If thas' what you think then you're a bloody fool."

"What?" he asks dumbfounded, looking up from his tear-soaked hands.

"Ponine's life was terrible. 'er father was cruel to 'er, 'er sister was dead, an' she was forced to degrade 'erself to a petty thief simply to get by. You were the one bright spot in 'er life." Marius squeezes his eyes shut; at her words, his chest constricts. "You made 'er smile an' laugh an' for that I am grateful to you. You made 'er life a little less miserable. She needed you an' you were there for 'er 'til the very end. You were a good friend an' she was 'appy with what affection you gave 'er. She loved you an' you were there for 'er. Thas' all she would 'ave asked for."

Marius feels something being pressed into his hands then. He opens his eyes to find Éponine's blue scarf clutched in his hands. The edge is frayed just a tiny bit but the embroidery is still intact. He remembers the day he had gifted her with the article, how she had smiled, how she had teased. The fabric still smells a bit like her and his heart warms. "Wait!" he calls out; the Madame had already begun her climb up the hill. "Where did you get this?" he asks in amazement.

"She liked to 'ide it under 'er bed, didn't want 'er father to sell it."

"Smart girl," he smiles up at her.

"Yes, indeed." Madame Thénardier smirks down towards him and adjusts her threadbare cloak around her shoulders. Marius sees her shudder a bit against the cold breeze and he is suddenly hit by a wave of concern for the woman.

"Where will you go, Madame?"

She shrugs. "I figured I'd go fin' work in Toulouse. I 'ear 'is nice down there." The idea of a Thénardier having honest work is unheard of, it make Maris smile. He scrambles to pull a few rumpled bills from his picket, pressing them into the Madame's shaking hands.

"For your travels," he says simply. She stares down at the gift in wonder. Marius momentarily thinks that she is going to refuse, but then she is smiling up at him, wiping one final tear from her eye.

In true Thénardier fashion she doesn't thank him, simply nods once and then disappears over the hill.

Marius turns back to the grave solemnly. His tears have stopped and he stoops down to place his hand on the cold, flat stone. He places a single flower on the grave and whispers a few final words before rising, "Goodbye Ponine." He departs.

- That Night -

They don't discuss Marius; it is an unspoken rule. They talk about the other Amis, laugh and share tales of their friends' wild adventures. It is always a good time before they realize that all of their friends are dead and they fall back into a sort of quite depression.

They aren't friends per say, more like lifeboats. They cling to each other when the memories are too much or the nightmares are too dreadful. They aren't friends but they need each other; they are all the other has.

And so they fall into a comfortable rhythm. They lock themselves away inside the walls of number fifty-five Rue Plumet. It was abandoned months ago, Éponine knows for certain. And so they keep the shade closed and the doors locked and keep to the inner rooms where the lights from their candles can't be seen by any passerby.

She reads and hums and thinks but, more times than not that last one is dangerous. She also cooks. She is dreadful at it but still better than him. So she cooks.

It has been four months. Four months of uneventful hiding, from the law and from the past. With all of this extra time he mind wanders far more frequently than she would like. She thinks about her sister and brother, her parents, Montparnasse, her friends. She worries about Enjolras but knows that there is nothing to be done there. And she thinks about Marius. A lot. By now she has given up on any romantic notion that he will come back to her. He thinks her dead and even if he didn't, he doesn't love her. Éponine is pleased to find that the thought doesn't send as sharp of a pain through her chest anymore. Perhaps she is moving on. Perhaps all she needed was closure – complete, resolute proof that there was no chance, an excuse for her to let go of her girlish fantasies and move on. Her 'death' was that excuse. And she feels good. Well, as good as someone with a shattered heart and lonely soul can feel. But still, she moves on. It is easier said than done but day by day she feels herself grow just a bit stronger. She is proud of herself and soldiers on.

Meanwhile, he broods and thinks and plans. He pours over papers and charts, desperate to discover where he went wrong, desperate to know why his friends were forced to make their sacrifices, why they hadn't emerged victorious from the ashes of a New France.

Éponine could tell him why. She knows where he went wrong and just doesn't have the heart to tell him: The people won't rise, they will never rise. Yes, there may be a few brave souls like Enjolras and Les Amis but in the end, the people are frightened. They live in fear of further repression. They would rather hope for change than risk further subjugation by setting forth into action to achieve it. No, it is not where Enjolras went wrong, Éponine knows. It is that the citizens refuse to cross the line, refuse to rise up and take their rightful places as _people_ of France instead of _slaves_ of it. It is the people's failure, not Enjolras'.

Enjolras mutters into his charts, sipping his tea broodingly and running his fingers through his crazed hair. Éponine sighs from the doorway, concerned for her not-quite-friend. She briefly considers trying to console him, but instantly knows better. He won't accept her comfort during the day just as she won't accept his. They each only accept the other's comfort when they are at their most vulnerable. At night when they each lurch harshly from their respective death-drenched dreams, simply words of "you're awake" and "I'm here" are enough. Words, after all, are something they've both always excelled at.

"Enjolras?" she calls from the doorway, twisting the ends of her hair between her fingers. He only grunts in response. "I'm going on a supplies run. I'll be back within the hour, okay?"

"Be careful," he mumbles as she reaches for the door and disappears into the darkness of night.

The streets are nearly abandoned apart from a few whores looking for words and a handful of drunkards looking to buy. She slips easily beneath the shadows, always has. The walk to the Café Musain is quiet and uneventful. She has nothing to fear now: her father is gone, Montparnasse is gone, and anyone who knew of her by reputation thinks she's dead. She is safe here in the dark, at least for the time being.

When she reaches the café she stops briefly to examine the place where the barricade once stood, where her friends all died, where Enjolras almost died, where _she_ almost died. She shudders at the memory before ducking around to the back entrance of the café to pick up the supplies left out for her by Madame Damery. The kind old woman who owns the café with her husband had always been a supporter of Les Amis cause, allowing them to host their meetings in her place of business. After the fall of the barricade, when she had found Éponine poking around her trash following hers and Enjolras' discharge from the convent hospital, she had insisted that Éponine let her supply the pair with food. Once a week for the past four months the woman has kept her word, leaving out a crate of fruit and bread, some meat, wine, fresh candles, and occasionally some of her children's old clothing or blankets. Sometimes the woman meets Éponine at the back door to chat, for which Éponine is grateful. She misses regular conversation. Although she and Enjolras frequently have moments of camaraderie, she does miss good female company. Today though, the older woman is decidedly absent. Éponine picks up the crate of goods before poking her head in the back door to wave her thanks to the Madame.

The bar is crowded and full of life, so different from what it beheld only a few months prior. Candles burn in the windows and the room is full of laughter and cheer. Éponine scans the room briefly, looking for the Madame and nearly drops her crate of supplies. There, sitting at the bar drinking from a bottle is Monsieur Marius.

He looks well, if not a bit forlorn and tiresome. Over the past months as Éponine has come to accept the terms of hers and Marius' not-relationship, the details of his features, she'd found, have gone out of focus. Whereas before the uprising she could place each one of his freckles perfectly from memory, over time even the exact shape of his face had gone a bit blurry as she had struggled to remember all of the fine details of him. But, seeing him sitting there, every pleasant memory she had even shared with him comes swooping back. A painful zing shoots through her chest like a bullet from a gun and she stumbles back.

She doesn't know what she feels. Happy, confused, scared, guilty, nervous, excited, heartbroken? All of the above? She simply cannot pinpoint the emotion she is feeling and so she clutches the crate closer to her chest and stumbles down the dark street back towards home. If there is one thing she is sure of though, it is that she's not ready to see him yet. She's not ready to question how much she loves him and her devotion to him and does he love her or not and _please God, let him still love me_. No, she's not ready to think about that, not ready to face him.

She's not sure she ever will be.

Hello!

First off I would like to apologize for the obscenely long wait period. I've been extremely busy as of late and haven't had time to write. On top of that, this chapter was a huge struggle for me. I knew where I wanted to go with the characters but wasn't sure how to express it. I hope I conveyed what I wanted to convey appropriately and interestingly enough.

Next, thank you very much to all of you who have favorited/commented/reviewed/PM'd/left kudos/etc. Every single one of them makes my day and I can't express my gratitude enough. Please continue to do so as they inspire me to write faster!

Also, as you hopefully would suspect from this story, Marius has confusing feelings for Cosette. Yes he loves her but perhaps not for all of the right reasons. I hope I appropriately conveyed his perplexing feelings towards her in this chapter.

Finally and most importantly, I think that it is only fair to warn you all that my intentions for this story have changed. Originally, my plan was for this fic to be romance-based. Recently, however, I have done a LOT of deep thinking as to the development I wish all of the characters to go through and where I want them to end up at the end of all this. With that in mind I have decided to stick to the original theme of Les Misérables, which is not one of romance but rather a theme of redemption. Over the last few weeks I have examined the Marius/Éponine relationship and come to a realization that I'm not sure you will all be pleased with: Éponine is much more than just some love-struck, boy-obsessed fangirl and therefor would naturally want (and quite frankly deserves) better than to go back to a man who had, however unintentionally, treated her as a means to achieve an ends. Please don't get me wrong, I do not dislike Marius. He fell in love with Cosette and that, despite any of us shippers' wishes otherwise, can't be helped, nor should it be. Love is a natural occurrence that we as humans don't choose. It should not have to be justified or defended simply because many of us can relate to Éponine's experiences of unrequited love. Originally my intention had always been to somehow work around the admittedly difficult blockades that prevent a romanticized Marius/Éponine relationship, as well as to give Cosette a, however bittersweet, realistic ending that involved her moving on in relative happiness without Marius, choosing to ignore the inevitably disastrous repercussions that would come naturally had I made Marius/Éponine endgame in this story. I have always disliked that shippers (particularly Marius/Éponine shippers – don't be offended, I was like you too once) have made Cosette out as a villain simply because she "got in the way" of their ship. I personally believe that Cosette deserves all of the happiness in the world, as do all of the characters in Les Mis. However, originally my motivation to make my – at the time – ship work clouded my judgment. I have sense come to my senses and realized a few things.

First, and please don't be offended, the Marius/Éponine ship would never work. I know, it's upsetting, even still to me but, I have thought about this a great deal and am sticking to my guns. Despite his good intentions and undoubted fondness for Ponine, Marius treated her as a carrier pigeon and used her devotion to him, in order to achieve a relationship with Cosette. I do not necessarily blame as, to quote Meg from Hercules, "people always do crazy things when they're in love" – which I agree with wholeheartedly – but, that does not, however, justify his exploitation of her "services." I know that Éponine was aware of this and fully had the ability to say no and, quite frankly, I think this is part of the problem that she didn't. If Marius and Éponine were to have a romantic relationship, it wouldn't be much of a relationship at all. She would continue to follow him around and do his bidding in every effort to please him. She would have no active role in the "relationship" which is a fault of both parties.

Secondly, Éponine is a strong character! Think about it: (at least in this fic) she was raised in an abusive home; lost both of her sibling is some form or the other; was forced to earn her keep through demeaning means; has parents that, quite frankly, couldn't care less as far as she could see; watched the man she was "in love" with love another woman (a childhood "nemesis" if you will, nonetheless); sacrificed her life to save someone that exploited her feelings in order to fulfill his own emotional needs; and suffered through the deaths of many of her friends. She deserves much, much better than the hand she has been dealt. And, being the strong-headed woman that she is – in both this fic and the brick (remember this is not only a girl who stands up to her abusive father and his gang, but also defends her dreams of love and happiness despite many people's insistence and concrete evidence stating that their achievement is ludicrous) – Éponine would undoubtedly realize this. Therefore, I can't imagine her simply welcoming Marius back into her waiting arms after the way she was hurt.

With all of that being said I have chosen to focus on a more realistic ending to this story. Yes, as explained in this chapter, Marius loves both Cosette and Éponine in different ways and for different reasons. In the end he will be forced to make a choice that would not be easy for anyone, especially someone who has lost so many people already in his life already and is now being forced will choose another to lose. However, my main goal now is to focus on the theme of redemption and forgiveness. Patching up Marius and Éponine's beyond-damaged relationship will be no easy feat and, in the end, this story is going to focus on that struggle: Marius' struggle to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life and Éponine's struggle forgive a man that broke her heart.

I hope that clears some things up and isn't too disappointing for many of you. Please feel free to PM me if you have any comments/questions/concerns.


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